Just a few months before the national elections in 1998, I saw on TV a news report about a psychic in the 1960's who predicted that the initials of the next 6 Philippine presidents would be (in the following order) M, A, R, V, E and L--which all form the wonderful word MARVEL. Until 1998, this prediction seemed true. The Presidents from 1965 to 1998 were (Ferdinand) Marcos, (Corazon) Aquino and (Fidel) Ramos, their initials forming the first half of MARVEL. But the prediction was finally disproven when Joseph Estrada won the presidency in 1998.
I’m guessing that the MARVEL prediction was fate’s way of telling us (or the psychic who saw it coming) that we would have MARVELous years of progress ahead. If so, what was the implication when MARVEL was cut short and replaced by “MARE” (Marcos, Aquino, Ramos and Estrada)? Did that mean that the MARVELs would be replaced by nightMAREs? Uh-oh! This can’t be good! First, the last 44 years had already proven to be nightmarish! Second, and worse, it seems like we’re in for another nightMARE! The current president, who also happens to be the successor of Estrada, is Gloria Macapagal. If we are to believe the surveys, the next president would probably be Noynoy Aquino. If his administration doesn’t mess up (the way Gloria Macapagal’s did), his successor would likely be MAR Roxas. And unless a new breed of bright, young and charismatic politicians emerges within the next 12 years, MAR’s successor might just be Francis Escudero. Macapagal, Aquino, Roxas and Escudero. That’s another MARE for you!
Now, before we worry about the next nightMARE, let’s go back to MARVEL. Thinking about the elections next year, I can’t help but wonder if that 1960’s psychic really had his vision right or he just confused six presidencies for one election. When he saw the word MARVEL, was he really trying to foresee the next 4 decades or did he erroneously look into the year 2010? Come to think of it. The year 2010 has MARVEL written all over it! Aside from Gilbert Teodoro (who’s a pitifully weak presidential candidate), can you think of any strong/winnable presidential candidate who has an initial outside of MARVEL? If elections push through in 2010, the persons most likely to become president next year are (A) Aquino, (R) Roxas, (V)Manny Villar, (E) Escudero and Estrada, and (L)Loren Legarda. If elections do not push through, on the other hand, we’ll be stuck with a dictator named Macapagal (Is this irony or just cruel historical poetry? The star of “Hello Garci!” and the chief executioner of Andres Bonifacio were both named MACAPAGAL!). If Bro. Eddie Villanueva and Panfilo Lacson decide to run, there would be another two MARVEL candidates joining the presidential race in 2010. If Raul Roco hadn’t died of cancer a few years ago, he’d also be a strong MARVEL candidate next year.
Interestingly, the MARVEL charm doesn’t seem to be limited to the presidency. Who are he strongest candidates for vice president in 2010? Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (I hope I’m wrong about the ‘strongest’ part.), Edu Manzano, MAR Roxas, Bong Revilla and Loren Legarda. There’s also Vilma Santos, who’s certainly more known as Vilma than Ms. Santos. She might also use the monicker “Ate Vi”.
Does Jejomar Binay stand a chance? Who knows? Baka nabulol lang ang tadhana! (Maybe fate just happened to be speech-impaired!). Maybe when fate was whispering its secrets to the that psychic 4 decades ago, it was really trying to say “MARBEL!” but ended up blurting out “MARVEL!”. (Ah, remember our lovely grade school teachers who taught us about “Frime Pactors”?). There you go! There’s a “B” in MARVEL, uh, I mean MARBEL!
Before I go too far, let me remind everybody that the elections are still six months away. So who are we to predict the future? There’s still a lot of time for weak candidates to radically alter their campaign strategies. And still a lot of time for the voters to get to know Vayani, Vinay and giVo! Right?
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
God's Design
(Note: On July 25, 1968, Pope Paul VI issued an encyclical entitled "Humanae Vitae", which stressed the Catholic Church's stand on the issue of contraception. The said document/ letter listed down the Vatican's arguments for its opposition to birth control. The complete encyclical can be viewed at http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/paul_vi/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-vi_enc_25071968_humanae-vitae_en.html.)
….Another effect that gives cause for alarm is that a man who grows accustomed to the use of contraceptive methods may forget the reverence due to a woman, and, disregarding her physical and emotional equilibrium, reduce her to being a mere instrument for the satisfaction of his own desires, no longer considering her as his partner whom he should surround with care and affection.
-from the ENCYCLICAL LETTER HUMANAE VITAE OF THE SUPREME PONTIFF PAUL VI TO HIS VENERABLE BROTHERS THE PATRIARCHS, ARCHBISHOPS, BISHOPS AND OTHER LOCAL ORDINARIES IN PEACE AND COMMUNION WITH THE APOSTOLIC SEE, TO THE CLERGY AND FAITHFUL OF THE WHOLE CATHOLIC WORLD, AND TO ALL MEN OF GOOD WILL,ON THE REGULATION OF BIRTH
What if tomorrow, a large meteor suddenly passes through the Solar System, fortunately not colliding with the earth but leaving a trail of radioactive matter that causes all of the earth’s inhabitants to become sterile? If that happens all, young men would inevitably cease to think of sex as an act of procreation. In such a situation, should all young men be deprived of sexual knowledge lest they forget the reverence due to a woman? Would it be fair to assume that just because a man sees sex as anything other than an act of procreation, he is doomed to be a chauvinist pig who reduces a woman to being a mere instrument for the satisfaction of his own desires?
Clearly, the church is afraid. It fears that contraception may cause men to disrespect women. But the problem with the church is that it fears what it should not and promotes what it should fear. Women are far more respected today, in the era of contraception, than in ancient times, when women were coldly regarded as mere bearers of children. When biblical proofs for the evils of contraception are sought, most Christian leaders are quick to refer to the 38th chapter of Genesis, which tells the story of Onan, a man who was killed by Yahweh after practicing the contraceptive act of withdrawal (i.e. “spilling the seed”). But before the withdrawal, whom did Onan have sex with and why? He had to do the act with Tamar, the wife of Onan’s brother Er, after the latter had been killed by Yahweh himself. Apparently, to preserve the family’s honor, Onan had been tasked to sire a child with his deceased brother’s widow. Did it matter whether or not Tamar had feelings for Onan? Hardly. Whether Tamar liked it or not, she had to have intercourse with her dead husband’s brother, simply because she had been widowed. The intercourse had to happen not because of love but because of the need to procreate. Is that what the church wants? A society which sees women more as bearers of children than as human beings who have the right to love and express that love in the most passionate ways? The church is concerned that contraception may promote a culture that disrespects women but unbelievably, it is not even worried that its stand against contraception may revive a culture that relegates women to being mere instruments of men’s desire to please God and procreate!
Which brings me to my next question. Do couples really go against God’s design when they have sex without effecting procreation? Below is another excerpt from the Humanae Vitae.
….If [men] further reflect, they must also recognize that an act of mutual love which impairs the capacity to transmit life which God the Creator, through specific laws, has built into it, frustrates His design which constitutes the norm of marriage, and contradicts the will of the Author of life. Hence to use this divine gift while depriving it, even if only partially, of its meaning and purpose, is equally repugnant to the nature of man and of woman, and is consequently in opposition to the plan of God and His holy will.
Let’s talk about nature. It is natural for a man to get sick. But if a brilliant doctor can find a way to alter the course of nature and prevent a man from becoming ill, why should anyone stop him? It is natural for a sick man to die. But if someone could be bright enough to save an ill person from death, why should anyone prevent him from reaching the sick man? It is natural for buildings to crumble during an earthquake. But if a brilliant engineer could design edifices which could stand the wrath of earthquakes, why stop him from realizing those designs? It is natural for a man to get wet in the rain, but if he chooses to seek shelter, if he chooses only to be cooled and not to be cleansed by the rain, why should anyone compel him to do otherwise? It is natural for a couple to have an offspring after coitus. But if someone could find a way to let an impoverished couple express their love for each other in the most passionate way without conceiving an innocent child who would be forced to inherit his parents’ poverty, why should anyone keep him from doing so? If a man can offer his wife the sacred gift of sexual enjoyment without forcing her to go through nine months of a pregnancy that may cost her her life, why stop him?
In this world, there is nothing more natural than the humans’ capacity to think and decide. It must be central in God’s design that we maintain our capacity to improve our fate and the world around us. To use this divine gift while depriving it, even if only partially, of its meaning and purpose, is repugnant to the nature of man and of woman, and is consequently in opposition to the plan of God and His holy will. Now is a time when the human intellect has made it possible for parents to space the births of their children in such a way that each child would not be deprived of the love, attention and education that he deserves, when couples could relish the sacred gift of sex without affecting the spacing of children’s births. If we refuse to benefit from our own intellect, even when benefiting from it does not bring harm to our fellow men, we are wasting God’s precious gift. We are rendering useless an instrument that was meant to make things better for us and for our children.
Why deprive ourselves? Why suffer? Below is another excerpt from the Humanae Vitae. In the following paragraph, the justifications for allowing the use of natural family planning methods in lieu of artificial methods are presented.
Neither the Church nor her doctrine is inconsistent when she considers it lawful for married people to take advantage of the infertile period but condemns as always unlawful the use of means which directly prevent conception, even when the reasons given for the later practice may appear to be upright and serious. In reality, these two cases are completely different. In the former the married couple rightly use a faculty provided them by nature. In the later they obstruct the natural development of the generative process. It cannot be denied that in each case the married couple, for acceptable reasons, are both perfectly clear in their intention to avoid children and wish to make sure that none will result. But it is equally true that it is exclusively in the former case that husband and wife are ready to abstain from intercourse during the fertile period as often as for reasonable motives the birth of another child is not desirable. And when the infertile period recurs, they use their married intimacy to express their mutual love and safeguard their fidelity toward one another. In doing this they certainly give proof of a true and authentic love.
When I was a child, I often wondered what would happen to our souls if one day someone makes charity impossible. Priests never grew tired of telling us to commit acts of charity because such acts please God. So I thought, what if there comes a time when the world runs out of beggars to give alms to? What if the world runs out of sick people to cure? What if the world runs out of weak people to help? Would God be far less happy now that His beloved children are no longer committing acts of charity? Certainly not. Because He does not ask us to commit acts of charity just for the sake of pleasing Him. We are asked to commit such acts because he wants us to make our fellow men happy. He wants us to save our fellow men from suffering.
We Catholics believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross to save mankind. But if there is no need to save mankind, would God the Father want to send His Son to suffer on earth? Would he want to let his Son suffer for the sake of suffering alone? I don’t think so. When men choose to suffer to save mankind, to make life far less painful to the ones they love or to make sure that no one else suffers after them, they are committing acts of holiness. But if they choose to suffer even when there is no one to benefit from their suffering, they are committing acts of foolishness. They are wasting their time. Time that could have been better spent helping their fellow men.
Christ carried the cross because He didn’t want us to suffer. Because He wanted us to be happy. And if the chance to experience happiness is staring us in the face, and grabbing that chance would cause no harm to anyone, would He be happy to see us letting go of that chance? Would He be happy to know that we are depriving ourselves of happiness? If a man and his wife have the opportunity to offer each other happiness through sex, why stop them? Why deprive them of happiness? Why force them to abstain from sex? They need to give proof of a true and authentic love? If so, why must he proof come in the form of suffering? Is suffering a pre-requisite to happiness?
Which brings me back to a point I made earlier. If one day the world runs out of people who need charity, should we please God by forcing people to need charity? If the world runs out of beggars to give alms to, should we turn some of our fellow men into beggars so that there would be beggars we could give alms to? If the world runs out of sick people, should we make people sick so that there would be sick people to heal? Do we need to see people suffer before they could be recipients of our good deeds? Does a person have to become a beggar before we can give him a wonderful gift? Does a person have to be sick before we can show him how much we care for him? Does a person have to be lonely before he could deserve to feel our embrace? Do couples have to be sexually deprived first before they could attain happiness through sex?
We are God’s beautiful creations. We are more than just biological machines designed to reproduce and multiply. We are complex beings who deserve to be happy and are endowed with the intellectual power to create our own paths towards happiness. And when we utilize our intellect to search for happiness, we are only conforming to God’s design.
We are blessed with the capability to produce and nurture children. But our children are not born into this world just to serve as sources of our parental bliss. And neither are they golden eggs that we lay to please our creator. They are humans who deserve to be happy and be saved from sufferings. And when parents use their intelligence, as well as the technologies created through the efforts of the most intelligent men and women to ensure that their children would not be deprived of all the love, attention, education and happiness they deserve, they are only conforming to God’s complex but brilliant design.
….Another effect that gives cause for alarm is that a man who grows accustomed to the use of contraceptive methods may forget the reverence due to a woman, and, disregarding her physical and emotional equilibrium, reduce her to being a mere instrument for the satisfaction of his own desires, no longer considering her as his partner whom he should surround with care and affection.
-from the ENCYCLICAL LETTER HUMANAE VITAE OF THE SUPREME PONTIFF PAUL VI TO HIS VENERABLE BROTHERS THE PATRIARCHS, ARCHBISHOPS, BISHOPS AND OTHER LOCAL ORDINARIES IN PEACE AND COMMUNION WITH THE APOSTOLIC SEE, TO THE CLERGY AND FAITHFUL OF THE WHOLE CATHOLIC WORLD, AND TO ALL MEN OF GOOD WILL,ON THE REGULATION OF BIRTH
What if tomorrow, a large meteor suddenly passes through the Solar System, fortunately not colliding with the earth but leaving a trail of radioactive matter that causes all of the earth’s inhabitants to become sterile? If that happens all, young men would inevitably cease to think of sex as an act of procreation. In such a situation, should all young men be deprived of sexual knowledge lest they forget the reverence due to a woman? Would it be fair to assume that just because a man sees sex as anything other than an act of procreation, he is doomed to be a chauvinist pig who reduces a woman to being a mere instrument for the satisfaction of his own desires?
Clearly, the church is afraid. It fears that contraception may cause men to disrespect women. But the problem with the church is that it fears what it should not and promotes what it should fear. Women are far more respected today, in the era of contraception, than in ancient times, when women were coldly regarded as mere bearers of children. When biblical proofs for the evils of contraception are sought, most Christian leaders are quick to refer to the 38th chapter of Genesis, which tells the story of Onan, a man who was killed by Yahweh after practicing the contraceptive act of withdrawal (i.e. “spilling the seed”). But before the withdrawal, whom did Onan have sex with and why? He had to do the act with Tamar, the wife of Onan’s brother Er, after the latter had been killed by Yahweh himself. Apparently, to preserve the family’s honor, Onan had been tasked to sire a child with his deceased brother’s widow. Did it matter whether or not Tamar had feelings for Onan? Hardly. Whether Tamar liked it or not, she had to have intercourse with her dead husband’s brother, simply because she had been widowed. The intercourse had to happen not because of love but because of the need to procreate. Is that what the church wants? A society which sees women more as bearers of children than as human beings who have the right to love and express that love in the most passionate ways? The church is concerned that contraception may promote a culture that disrespects women but unbelievably, it is not even worried that its stand against contraception may revive a culture that relegates women to being mere instruments of men’s desire to please God and procreate!
Which brings me to my next question. Do couples really go against God’s design when they have sex without effecting procreation? Below is another excerpt from the Humanae Vitae.
….If [men] further reflect, they must also recognize that an act of mutual love which impairs the capacity to transmit life which God the Creator, through specific laws, has built into it, frustrates His design which constitutes the norm of marriage, and contradicts the will of the Author of life. Hence to use this divine gift while depriving it, even if only partially, of its meaning and purpose, is equally repugnant to the nature of man and of woman, and is consequently in opposition to the plan of God and His holy will.
Let’s talk about nature. It is natural for a man to get sick. But if a brilliant doctor can find a way to alter the course of nature and prevent a man from becoming ill, why should anyone stop him? It is natural for a sick man to die. But if someone could be bright enough to save an ill person from death, why should anyone prevent him from reaching the sick man? It is natural for buildings to crumble during an earthquake. But if a brilliant engineer could design edifices which could stand the wrath of earthquakes, why stop him from realizing those designs? It is natural for a man to get wet in the rain, but if he chooses to seek shelter, if he chooses only to be cooled and not to be cleansed by the rain, why should anyone compel him to do otherwise? It is natural for a couple to have an offspring after coitus. But if someone could find a way to let an impoverished couple express their love for each other in the most passionate way without conceiving an innocent child who would be forced to inherit his parents’ poverty, why should anyone keep him from doing so? If a man can offer his wife the sacred gift of sexual enjoyment without forcing her to go through nine months of a pregnancy that may cost her her life, why stop him?
In this world, there is nothing more natural than the humans’ capacity to think and decide. It must be central in God’s design that we maintain our capacity to improve our fate and the world around us. To use this divine gift while depriving it, even if only partially, of its meaning and purpose, is repugnant to the nature of man and of woman, and is consequently in opposition to the plan of God and His holy will. Now is a time when the human intellect has made it possible for parents to space the births of their children in such a way that each child would not be deprived of the love, attention and education that he deserves, when couples could relish the sacred gift of sex without affecting the spacing of children’s births. If we refuse to benefit from our own intellect, even when benefiting from it does not bring harm to our fellow men, we are wasting God’s precious gift. We are rendering useless an instrument that was meant to make things better for us and for our children.
Why deprive ourselves? Why suffer? Below is another excerpt from the Humanae Vitae. In the following paragraph, the justifications for allowing the use of natural family planning methods in lieu of artificial methods are presented.
Neither the Church nor her doctrine is inconsistent when she considers it lawful for married people to take advantage of the infertile period but condemns as always unlawful the use of means which directly prevent conception, even when the reasons given for the later practice may appear to be upright and serious. In reality, these two cases are completely different. In the former the married couple rightly use a faculty provided them by nature. In the later they obstruct the natural development of the generative process. It cannot be denied that in each case the married couple, for acceptable reasons, are both perfectly clear in their intention to avoid children and wish to make sure that none will result. But it is equally true that it is exclusively in the former case that husband and wife are ready to abstain from intercourse during the fertile period as often as for reasonable motives the birth of another child is not desirable. And when the infertile period recurs, they use their married intimacy to express their mutual love and safeguard their fidelity toward one another. In doing this they certainly give proof of a true and authentic love.
When I was a child, I often wondered what would happen to our souls if one day someone makes charity impossible. Priests never grew tired of telling us to commit acts of charity because such acts please God. So I thought, what if there comes a time when the world runs out of beggars to give alms to? What if the world runs out of sick people to cure? What if the world runs out of weak people to help? Would God be far less happy now that His beloved children are no longer committing acts of charity? Certainly not. Because He does not ask us to commit acts of charity just for the sake of pleasing Him. We are asked to commit such acts because he wants us to make our fellow men happy. He wants us to save our fellow men from suffering.
We Catholics believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross to save mankind. But if there is no need to save mankind, would God the Father want to send His Son to suffer on earth? Would he want to let his Son suffer for the sake of suffering alone? I don’t think so. When men choose to suffer to save mankind, to make life far less painful to the ones they love or to make sure that no one else suffers after them, they are committing acts of holiness. But if they choose to suffer even when there is no one to benefit from their suffering, they are committing acts of foolishness. They are wasting their time. Time that could have been better spent helping their fellow men.
Christ carried the cross because He didn’t want us to suffer. Because He wanted us to be happy. And if the chance to experience happiness is staring us in the face, and grabbing that chance would cause no harm to anyone, would He be happy to see us letting go of that chance? Would He be happy to know that we are depriving ourselves of happiness? If a man and his wife have the opportunity to offer each other happiness through sex, why stop them? Why deprive them of happiness? Why force them to abstain from sex? They need to give proof of a true and authentic love? If so, why must he proof come in the form of suffering? Is suffering a pre-requisite to happiness?
Which brings me back to a point I made earlier. If one day the world runs out of people who need charity, should we please God by forcing people to need charity? If the world runs out of beggars to give alms to, should we turn some of our fellow men into beggars so that there would be beggars we could give alms to? If the world runs out of sick people, should we make people sick so that there would be sick people to heal? Do we need to see people suffer before they could be recipients of our good deeds? Does a person have to become a beggar before we can give him a wonderful gift? Does a person have to be sick before we can show him how much we care for him? Does a person have to be lonely before he could deserve to feel our embrace? Do couples have to be sexually deprived first before they could attain happiness through sex?
We are God’s beautiful creations. We are more than just biological machines designed to reproduce and multiply. We are complex beings who deserve to be happy and are endowed with the intellectual power to create our own paths towards happiness. And when we utilize our intellect to search for happiness, we are only conforming to God’s design.
We are blessed with the capability to produce and nurture children. But our children are not born into this world just to serve as sources of our parental bliss. And neither are they golden eggs that we lay to please our creator. They are humans who deserve to be happy and be saved from sufferings. And when parents use their intelligence, as well as the technologies created through the efforts of the most intelligent men and women to ensure that their children would not be deprived of all the love, attention, education and happiness they deserve, they are only conforming to God’s complex but brilliant design.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Great Plebeians: The People Power Story
On his deathbed, 30 years after victoriously leading his nation in a war against imperialist invaders, and after 30 years of being a poor farmer, a Great Plebeian wonders if the war he won was worth winning in the first place.
"When a country needed a leader in war, I stepped forward," he recalls. "But after the war was won, when my people asked me to be their perpetual dictator, I humbly declined. For I knew that while I could be a good leader in a time of war, I'd be a mediocre one in a time of peace. I was just a warrior and a farmer, with hardly any formal education or experience in civil government. The nation was better off being led by men far more intelligent than me, I thought. That's why I relinquished my post and went back to farming. That's heroism, right? But 30 years later, why does it feel more like stupidity than heroism?
"If that war was worth fighting, why am I dying a poor man?” he asks himself. "If stepping forward to lead this country was the right thing to do, why was I never rewarded a good life? Maybe I should have let those bastards from the empire conquer this land. Maybe I should have remained as dictator and plundered the nation's treasury. Maybe I should have sold this country to the empire when I had the chance. "
The above story is fictional. But reflecting on it may help us understand the plight of the Filipino people. Just a few weeks ago, we celebrated the 23rd anniversary of the People Power Revolution. And 23 years after ousting a dictator, like the great plebeian who had won a glorious war and lived an impoverished life, the heroes of the revolution are asking themselves, "Did we do the right thing?"
More than two decades after the peaceful revolution that earned us the admiration of the world, the Filipino people still find themselves having a million reasons to feel ashamed. Corruption is still rampant. The streets are teeming with trash. The masses are starving. Our Southeast Asian neighbors are overtaking us economically. And elections are still as bloody and chaotic as they had been during Marcos era. If taking part in that revolution was right, why are the children of those brave men and women starving today? If that revolution was worth fighting for, why isn’t this country being rewarded with prosperity?
Participants of the Second People Power Revolution in January 2001, the one that led to Joseph Estrada’s ouster, must be asking similar questions. If marching on EDSA to oust Erap was right, how come Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo was rewarded with power while the rest of the country had to suffer the punishment of being under her rule? If that revolution was worth fighting for, why are our lives today not any better than they were eight years ago?
Like the great plebeian in the story, the Filipino people find themselves regretting their heroic acts after failing to reap the rewards they expected. And like that great plebeian, the Filipino people are asking the wrong questions and expecting the wrong rewards.
The great plebeian in the story deserved nothing but praise for his courage and leadership during the war. But why should he expect that his success in the battlefield would lead to success in farming? The victory would make thing easier for him as a farmer. Because there would be no invaders to burn his crops, no stray bullets or arrows to kill his livestock, no threat of violence to keep him from diligently tilling the land each day. But the blood of the enemy that spilled into the ground would never miraculously cause the earth to grow crops out of nothing. A farmer, even if he is a great plebeian, can only reap as much as he sows. His success as a farmer would depend on his competence as a farmer. Not on his competence as a warrior.
The Filipinos who took part in the People Power uprisings deserve nothing less than posterity’s admiration for their valor. The success of the two peaceful revolutions made progress possible. But the fall of leaders like Ferdinand Marcos and Joseph Estrada would never miraculously cause the Philippine economy to suddenly boom. A businessman’s success in business depends on his competence as a businessman. An engineer’s success depends on his engineering skills. A writer’s success depends on his writing skills. Businessmen, engineers and writers can not have successful careers by simply taking part in a revolution. If they fight for justice, they will deserve to be honored. But none of them should expect to be wealthy because of that honor. A political milestone like the People Power Revolution of 1986 is something that the Filipino people should be proud of. But they should not expect social and economic progress to be achieved solely because of that political milestone.
In the near future, more political milestones may be achieved. Brave citizens of countries like Pakistan, Iraq, Afghanistan and North Korea may someday compel their leaders to institute major political reforms. But even the most heroic citizens should suffer no delusions. The struggle for progress does not end with political triumphs.
"When a country needed a leader in war, I stepped forward," he recalls. "But after the war was won, when my people asked me to be their perpetual dictator, I humbly declined. For I knew that while I could be a good leader in a time of war, I'd be a mediocre one in a time of peace. I was just a warrior and a farmer, with hardly any formal education or experience in civil government. The nation was better off being led by men far more intelligent than me, I thought. That's why I relinquished my post and went back to farming. That's heroism, right? But 30 years later, why does it feel more like stupidity than heroism?
"If that war was worth fighting, why am I dying a poor man?” he asks himself. "If stepping forward to lead this country was the right thing to do, why was I never rewarded a good life? Maybe I should have let those bastards from the empire conquer this land. Maybe I should have remained as dictator and plundered the nation's treasury. Maybe I should have sold this country to the empire when I had the chance. "
The above story is fictional. But reflecting on it may help us understand the plight of the Filipino people. Just a few weeks ago, we celebrated the 23rd anniversary of the People Power Revolution. And 23 years after ousting a dictator, like the great plebeian who had won a glorious war and lived an impoverished life, the heroes of the revolution are asking themselves, "Did we do the right thing?"
More than two decades after the peaceful revolution that earned us the admiration of the world, the Filipino people still find themselves having a million reasons to feel ashamed. Corruption is still rampant. The streets are teeming with trash. The masses are starving. Our Southeast Asian neighbors are overtaking us economically. And elections are still as bloody and chaotic as they had been during Marcos era. If taking part in that revolution was right, why are the children of those brave men and women starving today? If that revolution was worth fighting for, why isn’t this country being rewarded with prosperity?
Participants of the Second People Power Revolution in January 2001, the one that led to Joseph Estrada’s ouster, must be asking similar questions. If marching on EDSA to oust Erap was right, how come Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo was rewarded with power while the rest of the country had to suffer the punishment of being under her rule? If that revolution was worth fighting for, why are our lives today not any better than they were eight years ago?
Like the great plebeian in the story, the Filipino people find themselves regretting their heroic acts after failing to reap the rewards they expected. And like that great plebeian, the Filipino people are asking the wrong questions and expecting the wrong rewards.
The great plebeian in the story deserved nothing but praise for his courage and leadership during the war. But why should he expect that his success in the battlefield would lead to success in farming? The victory would make thing easier for him as a farmer. Because there would be no invaders to burn his crops, no stray bullets or arrows to kill his livestock, no threat of violence to keep him from diligently tilling the land each day. But the blood of the enemy that spilled into the ground would never miraculously cause the earth to grow crops out of nothing. A farmer, even if he is a great plebeian, can only reap as much as he sows. His success as a farmer would depend on his competence as a farmer. Not on his competence as a warrior.
The Filipinos who took part in the People Power uprisings deserve nothing less than posterity’s admiration for their valor. The success of the two peaceful revolutions made progress possible. But the fall of leaders like Ferdinand Marcos and Joseph Estrada would never miraculously cause the Philippine economy to suddenly boom. A businessman’s success in business depends on his competence as a businessman. An engineer’s success depends on his engineering skills. A writer’s success depends on his writing skills. Businessmen, engineers and writers can not have successful careers by simply taking part in a revolution. If they fight for justice, they will deserve to be honored. But none of them should expect to be wealthy because of that honor. A political milestone like the People Power Revolution of 1986 is something that the Filipino people should be proud of. But they should not expect social and economic progress to be achieved solely because of that political milestone.
In the near future, more political milestones may be achieved. Brave citizens of countries like Pakistan, Iraq, Afghanistan and North Korea may someday compel their leaders to institute major political reforms. But even the most heroic citizens should suffer no delusions. The struggle for progress does not end with political triumphs.
Monday, March 16, 2009
A World Without Confusion
When I was a teenager, back when almost every kid in the Philippines was going crazy over Japanese animated shows, there was a newspaper article (which, unfortunately, I can no longer find) which claimed that dubbed/translated cartoons showing Japanese, European and American characters speaking in Filipino made Filipino children confused. Indeed, why wouldn’t Filipino children be confused by such shows? The country they lived in was full of brown-skinned, dark haired people whose beliefs often contradicted those of the characters in foreign animated shows. Naturally, they’d be surprised to see white-skinned blondes speaking Filipino on TV and Filipino-speaking protagonists practicing non-Filipino, non-Christian traditions. In one episode of Samurai-X, a series about a former samurai struggling to live a fulfilling life in the first few years of the Meiji era (The Meiji emperor abolished the samurais' right to be the only armed force in Japanese society.), Japanese Christians were even depicted as powerless minorities fleeing their own country to escape the wrath of the authorities, minorities whose religious beliefs could be respected but not embraced by the “mainstream” characters in the show. That episode had certainly confused many Filipino children. Suddenly,because of that episode, the Christian faith that their Filipino parents taught them to believe turned out to be just another ridiculous foreign religion in another land. And the fleeing Christians that were supposed to be viewed as saints or martyrs based on Christian beliefs were being viewed by the show’s protagonists as “merely” respectable fellows with a strange religion. Yes, the newspaper article was right, foreign animated shows left the young Filipino people confused. But is there really something wrong with that?
Just three or four years ago, when I was already in my twenties, a major TV network showed a holy week cartoon special (dubbed in English) about Christopher Columbus and the supposed introduction of the Christian faith to the New World. There, Christopher Columbus was shown treading a dirt road in his native Spain, walking alongside a fellow Spaniard, conferring with the latter about his plan to journey to the west in search of a new world. Columbus seemed upbeat and excited about his plans, but the other man warned him not to expect too much because at that time their country had a concern far more important than discovering another land—reclaiming their own from the “evil” Moors. And then, like despicable villains in a cheap action movie, a few Moors were shown hiding in a grove not too far from Columbus and his companion, aiming their arrows at the Spanish protagonists. The arrows were shot, but not one of them hit the Spaniards, allowing the "heroes" to escape and live on. Though the appearance of the attackers was brief and fleeting, there was more than enough time for the viewers to see their villainous nature. While the Spaniards’ faces were pleasant and angelic, the Moors’ were ugly and terrifying, their noses crooked, their eyes bloodshot and gazing predatorily, like those of a vulture, their mouths shaped in the most devilish grins. The message was clear: the Christian Spaniards were good and the Islamic Moors were evil. Never mind that Columbus’s voyage to the New World would lead to the Spaniards’ massacre of the Native Americans. Never mind that the Europeans’ occupation of America was far more brutal and horrifying than the Moors’ occupation of Spain. The Christians were the protagonists and the rest were villains, period. There was no confusion. Is that what we want? A world without confusion?
When a female celebrity dresses scantily on national TV, the Church and other religious institutions raise hell over the matter. When male show hosts utter sexually tinged remarks, the censors do not hesitate to lash at the offenders. But when supposedly Christian programs demonize non-Christians and distort children’s understanding of history for the sake of absolving “great” Christian men like Columbus of their sins to the non-Christian world, both the Church and the censors remain silent. And if they do make a sound, it’s just that of applause. Are they happy to know that our children do not have to go through any kind of confusion about their faith, that our children are being raised as closed-minded bigots?
Somewhere down there in Southern Philippines, a young Muslim is learning to see his Christian compatriots as fanatical believers of the wrong God. And not far from that young Muslim is a young Christian who believes that Muslims are idiots who could never please the right God. But you know what? I’m glad that in this age of confusing animated shows, there is a chance that one day; those young Filipinos may be confused about the world and about their closed minded beliefs. And hopefully, because of their confusion, they will seek enlightenment. And as they take the long journey towards enlightenment, I pray that they practice tolerance.
Somewhere in Iraq, a child is being told by his parents that Americans, the same people whose government decided to punish Saddam Hussein with economic embargoes that left thousands of Iraqis starving, are the most merciless animals on earth. Somewhere in Afghanistan, a young boy is being made to believe by his father that a woman who dares to expose her face is a despicable sinner and that any godly man must punish her by spraying acid on her face. Somewhere in Palestine, young men are being taught that suicide bombing, when committed for the sake of their people’s liberation, is an act of martyrdom. Somewhere in Lebanon, children grow up believing Israelites, the same people who ruthlessly bombed Beirut to punish Hezbollah leaders, are brutal barbarians who deserve to get their own violent comeuppance someday. All over the world, children are being told by their closed-minded, conservative parents that women are inferior to men, that divorced couples are sinners, that homosexuals are incapable of feeling true love, that dark-colored people are ugly and white-skinned ones are beautiful, that theirs is the only respectable religion, that theirs is the best race in the world, and that theirs are the only correct beliefs.
I can only hope that one day, they shall also be confused.
Just three or four years ago, when I was already in my twenties, a major TV network showed a holy week cartoon special (dubbed in English) about Christopher Columbus and the supposed introduction of the Christian faith to the New World. There, Christopher Columbus was shown treading a dirt road in his native Spain, walking alongside a fellow Spaniard, conferring with the latter about his plan to journey to the west in search of a new world. Columbus seemed upbeat and excited about his plans, but the other man warned him not to expect too much because at that time their country had a concern far more important than discovering another land—reclaiming their own from the “evil” Moors. And then, like despicable villains in a cheap action movie, a few Moors were shown hiding in a grove not too far from Columbus and his companion, aiming their arrows at the Spanish protagonists. The arrows were shot, but not one of them hit the Spaniards, allowing the "heroes" to escape and live on. Though the appearance of the attackers was brief and fleeting, there was more than enough time for the viewers to see their villainous nature. While the Spaniards’ faces were pleasant and angelic, the Moors’ were ugly and terrifying, their noses crooked, their eyes bloodshot and gazing predatorily, like those of a vulture, their mouths shaped in the most devilish grins. The message was clear: the Christian Spaniards were good and the Islamic Moors were evil. Never mind that Columbus’s voyage to the New World would lead to the Spaniards’ massacre of the Native Americans. Never mind that the Europeans’ occupation of America was far more brutal and horrifying than the Moors’ occupation of Spain. The Christians were the protagonists and the rest were villains, period. There was no confusion. Is that what we want? A world without confusion?
When a female celebrity dresses scantily on national TV, the Church and other religious institutions raise hell over the matter. When male show hosts utter sexually tinged remarks, the censors do not hesitate to lash at the offenders. But when supposedly Christian programs demonize non-Christians and distort children’s understanding of history for the sake of absolving “great” Christian men like Columbus of their sins to the non-Christian world, both the Church and the censors remain silent. And if they do make a sound, it’s just that of applause. Are they happy to know that our children do not have to go through any kind of confusion about their faith, that our children are being raised as closed-minded bigots?
Somewhere down there in Southern Philippines, a young Muslim is learning to see his Christian compatriots as fanatical believers of the wrong God. And not far from that young Muslim is a young Christian who believes that Muslims are idiots who could never please the right God. But you know what? I’m glad that in this age of confusing animated shows, there is a chance that one day; those young Filipinos may be confused about the world and about their closed minded beliefs. And hopefully, because of their confusion, they will seek enlightenment. And as they take the long journey towards enlightenment, I pray that they practice tolerance.
Somewhere in Iraq, a child is being told by his parents that Americans, the same people whose government decided to punish Saddam Hussein with economic embargoes that left thousands of Iraqis starving, are the most merciless animals on earth. Somewhere in Afghanistan, a young boy is being made to believe by his father that a woman who dares to expose her face is a despicable sinner and that any godly man must punish her by spraying acid on her face. Somewhere in Palestine, young men are being taught that suicide bombing, when committed for the sake of their people’s liberation, is an act of martyrdom. Somewhere in Lebanon, children grow up believing Israelites, the same people who ruthlessly bombed Beirut to punish Hezbollah leaders, are brutal barbarians who deserve to get their own violent comeuppance someday. All over the world, children are being told by their closed-minded, conservative parents that women are inferior to men, that divorced couples are sinners, that homosexuals are incapable of feeling true love, that dark-colored people are ugly and white-skinned ones are beautiful, that theirs is the only respectable religion, that theirs is the best race in the world, and that theirs are the only correct beliefs.
I can only hope that one day, they shall also be confused.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Graduality
From space, the view of the planet earth is spectacular. A mesmerizingly beautiful glob of blue light glowing ethereally in the middle of space’s vast darkness. A luminescent blue jewel mysteriously floating on a frightening dark sea. But the best view perhaps is that from directly above the North Pole. From there the earth seems to be divided distinctly between two hemispheres—the illuminated half and the dark half, the one seeing the light of day and the one hidden in the dark of night. And if I were out there, floating somewhere way above the earth, looking down at those two distinct hemispheres, I’d wonder how it would be like to stand along the line that clearly divides the earth’s dark and bright sides. If from space, the earth seems to be clearly divided between the bright and the dark halves, shouldn’t it follow that from down there on earth, someone would see the sky clearly divided between black and blue?
The pictures taken from space can not lie. There must be a line that clearly separates the dark and bright sides of the earth. And once each day, we pass through that line. Because once each day, as the earth rotates, the day turns into night. But has anyone ever seen the sky clearly divided between black and blue? Even if we don’t wait for the earth’s rotation to take us to that line, even if we can run across the world from east to west just to be able to cross that line, would we ever find ourselves staring at a sky clearly divided between black and blue? Never. The day never suddenly shifts into night. The day can only fade into night. And if we run across the world in less than a day, even if the earth were not rotating, we would not see our surroundings suddenly turning from bright to dark. We would only observe our environment gradually losing its brightness, the land basking in sunlight before slowly crawling beneath the pall of twilight and then finally hiding in the dark cloak of nighttime. And when we find ourselves in the dark, we’ll know that we have crossed that line, the one which, from space, seems to clearly divide the earth between black and blue. But if we ask ourselves how far we are from that line, can we give ourselves an answer? If we try to recall the exact moment that everything around us was already dark, can we succeed?
Can you believe it? 365 times each year, the day turns into night. But how many times have we actually stood out there in the open at sunset, staring at the darkening sky, saying to ourselves with absolute certainty, “At this very moment, the day has completely turned into night.”? Apparently, nature has a playful side. It lets the most amazing natural phenomena unfold before our very eyes but at the same time conceals them from us.
It’s like what nature does to love. One day we just realize that we are in love. But by the time that realization comes, we have already been in love for quite some time. And when we ask ourselves how long we had actually been in love, we can not come up with the accurate answer. Love happens. We cross the line between friendship and love, that between admiration and love, that between lust and love, or that between infatuation and true love. But how many times have we found ourselves honestly and correctly saying, “At this exact moment, I have crossed the line between love and something else.”?
It’s like what nature does to memories. Life gives us a beautiful experience, we remember it, relish its memory for countless days, and then eventually, there’ll be nothing for us to reminisce. Because that beautiful memory has already faded into oblivion. But how many times in our lives do we find ourselves honestly saying,”Today, this beautiful memory has been erased from my mind.”?
Which is the same thing that happens to emotional pain. We feel it, suffer because of it, and then one day, we realize that the pain is gone. But by the time that realization comes, the pain has already been gone for quite some time. And though we repeatedly bear pain in our lives, how many times do we find ourselves honestly and accurately saying, “At this exact moment, the emotional pain has suddenly vanished.”?
It’s like what happens to happiness. For years, we struggle in our pursuit of happiness. And then one day, we realize that we are already happy. But by the time that realization comes, we have already been happy for quite some time. And though happiness has come to countless people, how many of us have accurately and honestly said to ourselves, “At this exact moment, I have attained happiness.”?
Now, I know what’s so damn wrong with my life. All this time, I’ve been expecting happiness to suddenly come into my life, like a thunderbolt fleetingly illuminating the dark night, when in fact, it can only come gradually, like the sunrise slowly brightening up the morning landscape. One day, perhaps, I’ll just realize that I’m happy, even though when that realization comes, I will have already been blissful for quite some time.
The same thing applies to progress. Growing up in a third world country, I have often heard my countrymen say that there is no hope for this impoverished land of ours. Because there hasn’t been any drastic change in the country for the past fifty years. But then, why do we expect progress to come through sudden, drastic changes? When the progress of human civilizations are discussed, we often focus on major political milestones—revolutions, conquests, legislation, treaties. Meanwhile, often overlooked are the long and silent miracles accomplished by the humble merchants who made commerce possible, the lowly peddlers who made it possible for humans to succeed without unleashing terror and violence, the same people who have quietly and gradually made it possible for millions of people to triumph in peace. Come to think of it, if those lowly merchants had not been so patient and persistent I selling their wares, there would be no such thing as an economy, and success would only come to those heartless enough to become ruthless kings and conquerors.
Someday, I’ll find happiness and success. But for now, I have to be patient. Because I know that such things can only come gradually. Someday, a country as impoverished as mine can attain prosperity. But for now, its people have to be patient because progress can only come with graduality. One day, I’ll just find myself happy, successful and living in a prosperous country. But when that realization comes, I will already have been happy, successful and living in a prosperous country for quite some time.
I wonder what other silent miracles are unfolding gradually before my eyes. I wonder how many lines I’m crossing each day. I wonder when the next startling realization of having crossed an invisible line would hit me.
The pictures taken from space can not lie. There must be a line that clearly separates the dark and bright sides of the earth. And once each day, we pass through that line. Because once each day, as the earth rotates, the day turns into night. But has anyone ever seen the sky clearly divided between black and blue? Even if we don’t wait for the earth’s rotation to take us to that line, even if we can run across the world from east to west just to be able to cross that line, would we ever find ourselves staring at a sky clearly divided between black and blue? Never. The day never suddenly shifts into night. The day can only fade into night. And if we run across the world in less than a day, even if the earth were not rotating, we would not see our surroundings suddenly turning from bright to dark. We would only observe our environment gradually losing its brightness, the land basking in sunlight before slowly crawling beneath the pall of twilight and then finally hiding in the dark cloak of nighttime. And when we find ourselves in the dark, we’ll know that we have crossed that line, the one which, from space, seems to clearly divide the earth between black and blue. But if we ask ourselves how far we are from that line, can we give ourselves an answer? If we try to recall the exact moment that everything around us was already dark, can we succeed?
Can you believe it? 365 times each year, the day turns into night. But how many times have we actually stood out there in the open at sunset, staring at the darkening sky, saying to ourselves with absolute certainty, “At this very moment, the day has completely turned into night.”? Apparently, nature has a playful side. It lets the most amazing natural phenomena unfold before our very eyes but at the same time conceals them from us.
It’s like what nature does to love. One day we just realize that we are in love. But by the time that realization comes, we have already been in love for quite some time. And when we ask ourselves how long we had actually been in love, we can not come up with the accurate answer. Love happens. We cross the line between friendship and love, that between admiration and love, that between lust and love, or that between infatuation and true love. But how many times have we found ourselves honestly and correctly saying, “At this exact moment, I have crossed the line between love and something else.”?
It’s like what nature does to memories. Life gives us a beautiful experience, we remember it, relish its memory for countless days, and then eventually, there’ll be nothing for us to reminisce. Because that beautiful memory has already faded into oblivion. But how many times in our lives do we find ourselves honestly saying,”Today, this beautiful memory has been erased from my mind.”?
Which is the same thing that happens to emotional pain. We feel it, suffer because of it, and then one day, we realize that the pain is gone. But by the time that realization comes, the pain has already been gone for quite some time. And though we repeatedly bear pain in our lives, how many times do we find ourselves honestly and accurately saying, “At this exact moment, the emotional pain has suddenly vanished.”?
It’s like what happens to happiness. For years, we struggle in our pursuit of happiness. And then one day, we realize that we are already happy. But by the time that realization comes, we have already been happy for quite some time. And though happiness has come to countless people, how many of us have accurately and honestly said to ourselves, “At this exact moment, I have attained happiness.”?
Now, I know what’s so damn wrong with my life. All this time, I’ve been expecting happiness to suddenly come into my life, like a thunderbolt fleetingly illuminating the dark night, when in fact, it can only come gradually, like the sunrise slowly brightening up the morning landscape. One day, perhaps, I’ll just realize that I’m happy, even though when that realization comes, I will have already been blissful for quite some time.
The same thing applies to progress. Growing up in a third world country, I have often heard my countrymen say that there is no hope for this impoverished land of ours. Because there hasn’t been any drastic change in the country for the past fifty years. But then, why do we expect progress to come through sudden, drastic changes? When the progress of human civilizations are discussed, we often focus on major political milestones—revolutions, conquests, legislation, treaties. Meanwhile, often overlooked are the long and silent miracles accomplished by the humble merchants who made commerce possible, the lowly peddlers who made it possible for humans to succeed without unleashing terror and violence, the same people who have quietly and gradually made it possible for millions of people to triumph in peace. Come to think of it, if those lowly merchants had not been so patient and persistent I selling their wares, there would be no such thing as an economy, and success would only come to those heartless enough to become ruthless kings and conquerors.
Someday, I’ll find happiness and success. But for now, I have to be patient. Because I know that such things can only come gradually. Someday, a country as impoverished as mine can attain prosperity. But for now, its people have to be patient because progress can only come with graduality. One day, I’ll just find myself happy, successful and living in a prosperous country. But when that realization comes, I will already have been happy, successful and living in a prosperous country for quite some time.
I wonder what other silent miracles are unfolding gradually before my eyes. I wonder how many lines I’m crossing each day. I wonder when the next startling realization of having crossed an invisible line would hit me.
Friday, February 27, 2009
A Rose in The Dark
To the one I love,
What if on Valentine ’s Day, everyone becomes blind and all roses suddenly lose their scent? How can I let you know that I love you aside from saying the words? How can I possibly touch your heart if you can never see the roses I am giving you? How can I find that beautiful rose if all I can see is darkness? What would happen to my dreams of leaving red and white roses on your bed so that you’d dream romantic dreams when you go to sleep? What would happen to my dreams of surprising you with a romantic shower of rose petals?
In the dark, in our blindness, there will be no romantic sunsets for us to behold. No majestic mountains and pristine seas for us to view. No candlelight to glow and glimmer between two dining lovers. No glistening stars for us to look up to in the serenity of the night. So where will I take you?
I’ll take you to a place where the cold wind blows. Be it a place where beautiful trees stand with utmost grandeur amidst a sea of shimmering green meadows, or a bleak, dry valley devoid of beauty and vegetation. For it will not matter what we shall see. Only what we shall feel. The wind’s hissing shall be the bright, blinding glare of sunlight. The gust, the blow of the wind, the stirring of the strands of our windblown hair, the tingling of our senses as the chillingly cool wind pricks our skin, they shall all be the sun rays that shower us with warmth. And when the wind seems to run out of breath, when its furious hissing becomes a soft, soothing murmur, that will be our romantic sunset. Maybe it won’t be as romantic as the breathtaking sunsets we have already seen in our lives. But what better thing can we have? What else can I offer you to make you feel the intensity of our romance? If I can’t offer you visual splendor, I’ll offer you the best I can. I’ll offer you the splendor of a beautiful feeling. If we can’t see the beauty around us, why can’t we just opt to feel all the beauty we failed to feel deeply enough because we were too busy seeing?
Come to think of it, my love. There must have been a time when no one saw the romance in sunsets. But we learned. Everyone learned to believe that there is romance in beauty. And that a beautiful sunset is a romantic sunset. So believe me, we shall also learn. We shall learn to feel the romance in each beautiful feeling. We will learn to feel romantic when we feel the wind. And let us begin the learning today. So we can start feeling the sweetness today.
As a gift, I can not give you roses. But I will give you the rain. When I hear the rain pouring, when the raindrops begin to knock on our roofs, I’ll know that my spring has come. So I’ll take you outside. And we’ll feel the coldness together. We’ll embrace and feel the countless raindrops slithering between my skin and yours. I know there won’t be a pleasant scent for us to relish. But at least we’ll have something intense and pleasant to feel. We’ll feel each other shiver. And that shiver, that little manifestation of a quiet inner suffering, that will be the assurance that this gift comes from the heart.
As for my dreams of showering you with rose petals, I will never give that up. Though blind, though handicapped, I will search the ground for every light little thing that can fly and flutter in midair, little things that will feel like rose petals when they fall on you. Be they merely torn paper, leaves or plastic garbage. And when I have gathered enough, I will throw them all up. So they can fall upon the two of us. Just like rose petals. And as they fall, I’ll hold your hand and we shall reminisce. We shall imagine. We shall believe that these light, little things are red and beautiful. For when our eyes can no longer see, we’ll see through our memories.
Memories. They are what can turn the ugly beautiful, the despicable endearing, and the painful soothing. One day we’ll find ourselves walking along the banks of a stinking, polluted river. But because that river is the same river we saw together each day as we went home, we’ll stop to relish the river’s putrid smell. Because that smell, no matter how offensive, will flood our minds with beautiful memories. Beautiful images that we shall never see again. One night, the hounds will shatter the night’s tranquility with their howls. But we shall not be disturbed. We shall not be angered by those maddening sounds. Because through the howling hounds, we’ll know that the moon and the stars are up there, glowing, glistening, existing. One night, we’ll find ourselves standing dangerously close to a fire. We shall not see its light. But we shall feel its warmth. The same warmth that shall remind us of the romantic candlelight and the glorious bonfires we stared at quietly on the countless nostalgic nights of our past. And because we’ll want to feel more, to remember more of the romantic past, we’ll extend our hands towards that warmth. And we’ll let the fire burn our palms until we could no longer bear the pain. Yes, it shall be painful. But can anyone blame us for wanting to feel this much?
One day, perhaps, in my search for light, little things that feel like rose petals; I’ll find a priceless treasure on the ground. As I try to pick up something, I’ll be pricked by the thing’s thorns. Because it is a real rose. And I will rejoice because of that miracle. In my joy I’ll grip the flower’s stem tightly, letting the thorns pierce my skin until the blood flows out. And as soon as I find you, I’ll hand you my gift. A rose in the dark. Incredulous, you will hesitate to reach for it. But because you love me, you’ll touch my hand, and feel the blood that drenches it. The same blood that had come out of the wounds caused by the rose. The same blood that proves to you that I have a real rose in my hand. The same blood that lets you know how much I love you. Then, reluctantly, you’ll touch the soft petals, and then slide your hand to the thorny stem, gripping it, letting your palm bleed as much as mine does. Letting your blood fuse with mine as it drips down the flower’s stem, and then down to your arms. We’ll bleed, feel each other bleed and find bliss in each other’s bleeding. We will grip the stem even more tightly, let the blood flow out more profusely. And then we’ll suffer, we’ll cry and find bliss in each other’s weeping. In another life, such pleasure would have been deemed sick. But can anyone blame us for wanting to feel this much? Can anyone stop us from loving this much? From being this passionate? For hurting ourselves this much because the pain brings back ethereally beautiful memories? Because this is the only way to feel our love at its deepest? As we cry, we shall embrace. And not care how much pain we have to bear, or inflict on each other, just to experience this much love.
Sometimes, for love to be truly passionate, the lovers will have to suffer and bleed.
What if on Valentine ’s Day, everyone becomes blind and all roses suddenly lose their scent? How can I let you know that I love you aside from saying the words? How can I possibly touch your heart if you can never see the roses I am giving you? How can I find that beautiful rose if all I can see is darkness? What would happen to my dreams of leaving red and white roses on your bed so that you’d dream romantic dreams when you go to sleep? What would happen to my dreams of surprising you with a romantic shower of rose petals?
In the dark, in our blindness, there will be no romantic sunsets for us to behold. No majestic mountains and pristine seas for us to view. No candlelight to glow and glimmer between two dining lovers. No glistening stars for us to look up to in the serenity of the night. So where will I take you?
I’ll take you to a place where the cold wind blows. Be it a place where beautiful trees stand with utmost grandeur amidst a sea of shimmering green meadows, or a bleak, dry valley devoid of beauty and vegetation. For it will not matter what we shall see. Only what we shall feel. The wind’s hissing shall be the bright, blinding glare of sunlight. The gust, the blow of the wind, the stirring of the strands of our windblown hair, the tingling of our senses as the chillingly cool wind pricks our skin, they shall all be the sun rays that shower us with warmth. And when the wind seems to run out of breath, when its furious hissing becomes a soft, soothing murmur, that will be our romantic sunset. Maybe it won’t be as romantic as the breathtaking sunsets we have already seen in our lives. But what better thing can we have? What else can I offer you to make you feel the intensity of our romance? If I can’t offer you visual splendor, I’ll offer you the best I can. I’ll offer you the splendor of a beautiful feeling. If we can’t see the beauty around us, why can’t we just opt to feel all the beauty we failed to feel deeply enough because we were too busy seeing?
Come to think of it, my love. There must have been a time when no one saw the romance in sunsets. But we learned. Everyone learned to believe that there is romance in beauty. And that a beautiful sunset is a romantic sunset. So believe me, we shall also learn. We shall learn to feel the romance in each beautiful feeling. We will learn to feel romantic when we feel the wind. And let us begin the learning today. So we can start feeling the sweetness today.
As a gift, I can not give you roses. But I will give you the rain. When I hear the rain pouring, when the raindrops begin to knock on our roofs, I’ll know that my spring has come. So I’ll take you outside. And we’ll feel the coldness together. We’ll embrace and feel the countless raindrops slithering between my skin and yours. I know there won’t be a pleasant scent for us to relish. But at least we’ll have something intense and pleasant to feel. We’ll feel each other shiver. And that shiver, that little manifestation of a quiet inner suffering, that will be the assurance that this gift comes from the heart.
As for my dreams of showering you with rose petals, I will never give that up. Though blind, though handicapped, I will search the ground for every light little thing that can fly and flutter in midair, little things that will feel like rose petals when they fall on you. Be they merely torn paper, leaves or plastic garbage. And when I have gathered enough, I will throw them all up. So they can fall upon the two of us. Just like rose petals. And as they fall, I’ll hold your hand and we shall reminisce. We shall imagine. We shall believe that these light, little things are red and beautiful. For when our eyes can no longer see, we’ll see through our memories.
Memories. They are what can turn the ugly beautiful, the despicable endearing, and the painful soothing. One day we’ll find ourselves walking along the banks of a stinking, polluted river. But because that river is the same river we saw together each day as we went home, we’ll stop to relish the river’s putrid smell. Because that smell, no matter how offensive, will flood our minds with beautiful memories. Beautiful images that we shall never see again. One night, the hounds will shatter the night’s tranquility with their howls. But we shall not be disturbed. We shall not be angered by those maddening sounds. Because through the howling hounds, we’ll know that the moon and the stars are up there, glowing, glistening, existing. One night, we’ll find ourselves standing dangerously close to a fire. We shall not see its light. But we shall feel its warmth. The same warmth that shall remind us of the romantic candlelight and the glorious bonfires we stared at quietly on the countless nostalgic nights of our past. And because we’ll want to feel more, to remember more of the romantic past, we’ll extend our hands towards that warmth. And we’ll let the fire burn our palms until we could no longer bear the pain. Yes, it shall be painful. But can anyone blame us for wanting to feel this much?
One day, perhaps, in my search for light, little things that feel like rose petals; I’ll find a priceless treasure on the ground. As I try to pick up something, I’ll be pricked by the thing’s thorns. Because it is a real rose. And I will rejoice because of that miracle. In my joy I’ll grip the flower’s stem tightly, letting the thorns pierce my skin until the blood flows out. And as soon as I find you, I’ll hand you my gift. A rose in the dark. Incredulous, you will hesitate to reach for it. But because you love me, you’ll touch my hand, and feel the blood that drenches it. The same blood that had come out of the wounds caused by the rose. The same blood that proves to you that I have a real rose in my hand. The same blood that lets you know how much I love you. Then, reluctantly, you’ll touch the soft petals, and then slide your hand to the thorny stem, gripping it, letting your palm bleed as much as mine does. Letting your blood fuse with mine as it drips down the flower’s stem, and then down to your arms. We’ll bleed, feel each other bleed and find bliss in each other’s bleeding. We will grip the stem even more tightly, let the blood flow out more profusely. And then we’ll suffer, we’ll cry and find bliss in each other’s weeping. In another life, such pleasure would have been deemed sick. But can anyone blame us for wanting to feel this much? Can anyone stop us from loving this much? From being this passionate? For hurting ourselves this much because the pain brings back ethereally beautiful memories? Because this is the only way to feel our love at its deepest? As we cry, we shall embrace. And not care how much pain we have to bear, or inflict on each other, just to experience this much love.
Sometimes, for love to be truly passionate, the lovers will have to suffer and bleed.
Friday, February 20, 2009
When The Truth Becomes Irrelevant
The night sky is taunting me. It offers me a spectacle of a million sparkling stars and one beautifully luminescent moon. And quietly it asks me, all this beauty, all these marvels, were they created by one divine God?
As I ponder the question, as I stand here beneath the mottled sheath of darkness that is the night sky, my gaze shifts from the unreachable stars to the humble ground. And there, lying amidst the dirt and the weeds are a few rocks the size of my fist. Just seeing them, I already know that they are hard. But how? How can I be so sure that all such rocks are hard? Someday, will it be possible for me to see something that looks like one of these rocks but is not hard? Maybe. But so far, I’ve already seen thousands, perhaps millions of rocks in my life and all of them were hard. Is it wrong for me to expect that all rock-like things are hard? If I see a rock being hurled at me, should I remain standing where I am and believe that the rock is soft because I have no proof that all rock-looking things are hard? See, in my mind, I have already created a model of how the world works, and in that model, all rocks are hard. Can that model fail someday? Perhaps. But while it is not failing, should I assume that my model, my understanding of the world is wrong? Should I just live my life without a mental model of how the world works? Should I just make every observation, every step in my life, without any expectations (both the right and the wrong ones) of what’s about to happen next? Should I just keep walking calmly while all the possibly hard rocks are being thrown at me?
Suddenly, a car’s bright headlights flash from behind me. And before the driver can blow its horn and shatter the night’s romantic serenity, I move out of the vehicle’s way. I stay out of the way? Why? Because if I don’t, the damn car will run over me. How do I know that? Have I ever seen a man actually being run over by a car? No. Have I seen animals being flattened by trucks? Yes. Why do I expect that the same thing that happened to dogs and cats can also happen to me? Because according to my understanding of the world—my model—humans are just as vulnerable as their lowly animal counterparts. Can my model fail someday? Yes. If I am insane, or if I am merely dreaming, that car can not kill me. If that thing with a headlight is not really a car but a hologram, my model fails and that thing can never flatten me. But should I go on crossing the street mindlessly each day, believing that not a single one of the speeding cars can kill me?
Which makes me wonder how man discovered fire. When one ancient man first observed that rocks produced a spark, what could have driven him to keep scratching more rocks? What could have prompted him to believe that the sparks could possibly produce fire? While he kept scratching those rocks against each other, did he have absolute proof that the rock’s spark could produce fire? I doubt. Proof, he had none. But he certainly had a rough model of how things in the world work, a model that had been based on countless observations—which must have included his observations on how lightning produced fire upon striking the ground. And based on that model—which must have been flawed given his limited knowledge—he acted, until he produced the miracle of fire. Was it wrong for him to believe in his flawed model? Should he be called a fool for having faith in something he wasn’t sure about?
Why did man ever decide to trust reason? When one of the earliest hunters, was in the forest, observing the wild animals, figuring how they behaved, figuring how they could be captured, did he have absolute proof that his mind had the capacity to model the lives and behavior of these creatures? No. Was he wrong in trusting his mind? Should he have just believed that the world followed no definite order? Should he have just counted on luck for his fate? When humans began to think critically, did they have absolute proof that critical thinking would be more practical than depending on pure luck? No. Should they have stopped thinking critically early on? Was it wrong for them to have faith in the capacity of their minds? Was it wrong for them to have faith in Reason? No matter what they say about the impracticality of faith, one thing can never be denied: the light of reason began to exist only through the spark of faith.
It’s easy to predict that rocks are hard when you’ve proven to yourself that all the rocks you’ve seen are hard. It’s also easy to trust your mind and Reason when all your life you’ve benefited from them. But what if you find yourself in a situation wherein you have to predict the outcome of something you have never observed before?
I imagine myself walking in the dark. Alone. Or so I think until I hear the voice of the woman I love. She seems to be from afar, for the sound of her voice creates an eerie echo. She tells me that she knows where exactly I am, even though we are both in the dark. She warns that there are murderous men not far behind me and they are about to kill me as soon as they catch up with me. But, unfortunately, she says, I cannot run. Because ahead of me, between where I am and where she stands, is a cliff. She tells me that I may be strong enough to leap across the cliff and the men behind me are not. I, on the other hand, consider fighting the murderous men in the dark. Can I successfully leap in the dark across that cliff? Or am I better off repeatedly unleashing punches—stabs—in the dark until I get rid of all those murderous men? While I go on thinking, there is a truth that eludes me. Is it better to leap or to fight? But in this kind of situation, the truth is impossible to know until I decide to fight or jump. And in this situation, when the truth is impossible to know, the truth becomes irrelevant. Because I don’t have to wait to know the truth before I act. The best thing I can do is to either leap or stab in the dark.
I wonder how terrible the ordeal of the first farmer was. When he decided to till the land, to spend several months nurturing his crops, did he ever fear that the crops may all die before they could be harvested? Did he ever fear that a storm or a tornado may suddenly wipe out his crops? That he could have been better off, spending most of his time hunting instead of farming? Of course he did. But could he know when the storm will strike? And since it is his first time to farm, can he know if the land is fertile enough? No. And when he’s about to sleep at night, when he was seeing in his mind images of his wife and children starving after his failure with the farm, what could he do to avoid that nightmare? What could he do, given his limited knowledge, to protect his farm from the ruthless forces of nature? He could take a leap in the dark. And then hope that it would work. He could pray.
Often, the prayer has been regarded by intellectuals as a monument to man’s failure to take control of his fate. The prayer—a plea for God to intervene—is often viewed as a symbol of human weakness. But in reality, the first prayer was a milestone on the road to science. It was a glaring proof that humans deeply understood the world they were moving in. Because when humans began to pray, that was when they fully acknowledged that the universe followed a definite order and that by aligning their acts with this order, they could bend up benefiting from it.
Today, I still cannot prove that those stars, that moon and that sky were created by a divine God. But I do know that when I go to sleep, I want to be safe. When my loved ones are asleep, I want them to be just as safe. When I wake up tomorrow, I’d still want to see the faces of the people I love. And if ever they are taken from me, here should be a good reason for it—a reason that will ultimately be beneficial for them. How do I make sure that all my loved ones shall be safe? That if we suffer, our suffering would be for something good? The truth is, I can never be sure. That’s why I take a stab in the dark each night. I pray. Should I be deemed a fool for doing that? Should everyone think me weak?
A lot of things have happened in my life. Some are good, some horrible. Do they make sense? Yes. But only if I include God in my mental model of the world. Can my mental model of the world fail someday? Maybe. Is it possible that I may be wrong in believing in God? Yes. But until my model fails, until my faith is proven wrong and dysfunctional, should I go on living without a mental model of the universe’s order? Should I go on living without believing anything unproven? Should I go on living believing that nothing that happened in my life makes sense?
I am not saying that we should all believe in God. But if I do believe in a God I never saw, I still deserve respect for it. There is nothing irrational about that. As long as my belief does not compromise the welfare of another human being, I have the right to stick to my faith.
Going back to the scenario I mentioned earlier, the one in which I am supposed to choose between leaping and fighting the murderous men in the dark, if I happen to be walking alongside another man in that same scenario, and we make different decisions; I to leap in the dark and he to fight; should I respect the other men for his decision? Of course, I should. And in the same way, I respect all atheists, agnostics and believers of faiths other than my own.
Now, say we both decide to jump and I’m the one who goes first. And then after a while, the other man hears me screaming as I plummet to my death, hence proving to him that the cliff is too wide for a man to leap across successfully, should the second man also leap in the dark? If he jumps even after hearing my screams, his act will not be one of faith but of stupid fanaticism. In the same way, when clerics believed that the earth was the center of the universe even though Nicolus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei had presented sufficient evidence proving otherwise, the clerics’ act was not one of faith but of stupid, closed-minded fanaticism. When supposedly holy men stubbornly believe that the universe was created in six days and biological evolution never occurred, even though sufficient evidence says otherwise, theirs is not an act of faith but an act of stupidity.
On the other hand, if we make our decisions simultaneously, and I happen to die after jumping while the other lives on after courageously taking a stand against the assailants? Does that make me a fool? Does that make him the wiser man? What if I live and he dies? Should I be deemed wiser for surviving? Or should I just be dismissed as the lucky one. Truth is, wisdom alone cannot guarantee that one’s decisions would be correct. Maybe my belief in God is right. But in this case, being right does not prove me wiser than any atheist. Maybe the atheists are correct in believing that there is no God. But being correct alone does not make them wiser than believers like me.
I believe in God. Which means that I already took a leap in the dark. The leap hasn’t ended yet, though. For the truth hasn’t fully revealed itself to me yet. I am still airborne, hoping that I will land somewhere safe. Will I plummet to death? Maybe. But even if that happens, it will happen not because I’m a fool.
I will only fall because I am human.
As I ponder the question, as I stand here beneath the mottled sheath of darkness that is the night sky, my gaze shifts from the unreachable stars to the humble ground. And there, lying amidst the dirt and the weeds are a few rocks the size of my fist. Just seeing them, I already know that they are hard. But how? How can I be so sure that all such rocks are hard? Someday, will it be possible for me to see something that looks like one of these rocks but is not hard? Maybe. But so far, I’ve already seen thousands, perhaps millions of rocks in my life and all of them were hard. Is it wrong for me to expect that all rock-like things are hard? If I see a rock being hurled at me, should I remain standing where I am and believe that the rock is soft because I have no proof that all rock-looking things are hard? See, in my mind, I have already created a model of how the world works, and in that model, all rocks are hard. Can that model fail someday? Perhaps. But while it is not failing, should I assume that my model, my understanding of the world is wrong? Should I just live my life without a mental model of how the world works? Should I just make every observation, every step in my life, without any expectations (both the right and the wrong ones) of what’s about to happen next? Should I just keep walking calmly while all the possibly hard rocks are being thrown at me?
Suddenly, a car’s bright headlights flash from behind me. And before the driver can blow its horn and shatter the night’s romantic serenity, I move out of the vehicle’s way. I stay out of the way? Why? Because if I don’t, the damn car will run over me. How do I know that? Have I ever seen a man actually being run over by a car? No. Have I seen animals being flattened by trucks? Yes. Why do I expect that the same thing that happened to dogs and cats can also happen to me? Because according to my understanding of the world—my model—humans are just as vulnerable as their lowly animal counterparts. Can my model fail someday? Yes. If I am insane, or if I am merely dreaming, that car can not kill me. If that thing with a headlight is not really a car but a hologram, my model fails and that thing can never flatten me. But should I go on crossing the street mindlessly each day, believing that not a single one of the speeding cars can kill me?
Which makes me wonder how man discovered fire. When one ancient man first observed that rocks produced a spark, what could have driven him to keep scratching more rocks? What could have prompted him to believe that the sparks could possibly produce fire? While he kept scratching those rocks against each other, did he have absolute proof that the rock’s spark could produce fire? I doubt. Proof, he had none. But he certainly had a rough model of how things in the world work, a model that had been based on countless observations—which must have included his observations on how lightning produced fire upon striking the ground. And based on that model—which must have been flawed given his limited knowledge—he acted, until he produced the miracle of fire. Was it wrong for him to believe in his flawed model? Should he be called a fool for having faith in something he wasn’t sure about?
Why did man ever decide to trust reason? When one of the earliest hunters, was in the forest, observing the wild animals, figuring how they behaved, figuring how they could be captured, did he have absolute proof that his mind had the capacity to model the lives and behavior of these creatures? No. Was he wrong in trusting his mind? Should he have just believed that the world followed no definite order? Should he have just counted on luck for his fate? When humans began to think critically, did they have absolute proof that critical thinking would be more practical than depending on pure luck? No. Should they have stopped thinking critically early on? Was it wrong for them to have faith in the capacity of their minds? Was it wrong for them to have faith in Reason? No matter what they say about the impracticality of faith, one thing can never be denied: the light of reason began to exist only through the spark of faith.
It’s easy to predict that rocks are hard when you’ve proven to yourself that all the rocks you’ve seen are hard. It’s also easy to trust your mind and Reason when all your life you’ve benefited from them. But what if you find yourself in a situation wherein you have to predict the outcome of something you have never observed before?
I imagine myself walking in the dark. Alone. Or so I think until I hear the voice of the woman I love. She seems to be from afar, for the sound of her voice creates an eerie echo. She tells me that she knows where exactly I am, even though we are both in the dark. She warns that there are murderous men not far behind me and they are about to kill me as soon as they catch up with me. But, unfortunately, she says, I cannot run. Because ahead of me, between where I am and where she stands, is a cliff. She tells me that I may be strong enough to leap across the cliff and the men behind me are not. I, on the other hand, consider fighting the murderous men in the dark. Can I successfully leap in the dark across that cliff? Or am I better off repeatedly unleashing punches—stabs—in the dark until I get rid of all those murderous men? While I go on thinking, there is a truth that eludes me. Is it better to leap or to fight? But in this kind of situation, the truth is impossible to know until I decide to fight or jump. And in this situation, when the truth is impossible to know, the truth becomes irrelevant. Because I don’t have to wait to know the truth before I act. The best thing I can do is to either leap or stab in the dark.
I wonder how terrible the ordeal of the first farmer was. When he decided to till the land, to spend several months nurturing his crops, did he ever fear that the crops may all die before they could be harvested? Did he ever fear that a storm or a tornado may suddenly wipe out his crops? That he could have been better off, spending most of his time hunting instead of farming? Of course he did. But could he know when the storm will strike? And since it is his first time to farm, can he know if the land is fertile enough? No. And when he’s about to sleep at night, when he was seeing in his mind images of his wife and children starving after his failure with the farm, what could he do to avoid that nightmare? What could he do, given his limited knowledge, to protect his farm from the ruthless forces of nature? He could take a leap in the dark. And then hope that it would work. He could pray.
Often, the prayer has been regarded by intellectuals as a monument to man’s failure to take control of his fate. The prayer—a plea for God to intervene—is often viewed as a symbol of human weakness. But in reality, the first prayer was a milestone on the road to science. It was a glaring proof that humans deeply understood the world they were moving in. Because when humans began to pray, that was when they fully acknowledged that the universe followed a definite order and that by aligning their acts with this order, they could bend up benefiting from it.
Today, I still cannot prove that those stars, that moon and that sky were created by a divine God. But I do know that when I go to sleep, I want to be safe. When my loved ones are asleep, I want them to be just as safe. When I wake up tomorrow, I’d still want to see the faces of the people I love. And if ever they are taken from me, here should be a good reason for it—a reason that will ultimately be beneficial for them. How do I make sure that all my loved ones shall be safe? That if we suffer, our suffering would be for something good? The truth is, I can never be sure. That’s why I take a stab in the dark each night. I pray. Should I be deemed a fool for doing that? Should everyone think me weak?
A lot of things have happened in my life. Some are good, some horrible. Do they make sense? Yes. But only if I include God in my mental model of the world. Can my mental model of the world fail someday? Maybe. Is it possible that I may be wrong in believing in God? Yes. But until my model fails, until my faith is proven wrong and dysfunctional, should I go on living without a mental model of the universe’s order? Should I go on living without believing anything unproven? Should I go on living believing that nothing that happened in my life makes sense?
I am not saying that we should all believe in God. But if I do believe in a God I never saw, I still deserve respect for it. There is nothing irrational about that. As long as my belief does not compromise the welfare of another human being, I have the right to stick to my faith.
Going back to the scenario I mentioned earlier, the one in which I am supposed to choose between leaping and fighting the murderous men in the dark, if I happen to be walking alongside another man in that same scenario, and we make different decisions; I to leap in the dark and he to fight; should I respect the other men for his decision? Of course, I should. And in the same way, I respect all atheists, agnostics and believers of faiths other than my own.
Now, say we both decide to jump and I’m the one who goes first. And then after a while, the other man hears me screaming as I plummet to my death, hence proving to him that the cliff is too wide for a man to leap across successfully, should the second man also leap in the dark? If he jumps even after hearing my screams, his act will not be one of faith but of stupid fanaticism. In the same way, when clerics believed that the earth was the center of the universe even though Nicolus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei had presented sufficient evidence proving otherwise, the clerics’ act was not one of faith but of stupid, closed-minded fanaticism. When supposedly holy men stubbornly believe that the universe was created in six days and biological evolution never occurred, even though sufficient evidence says otherwise, theirs is not an act of faith but an act of stupidity.
On the other hand, if we make our decisions simultaneously, and I happen to die after jumping while the other lives on after courageously taking a stand against the assailants? Does that make me a fool? Does that make him the wiser man? What if I live and he dies? Should I be deemed wiser for surviving? Or should I just be dismissed as the lucky one. Truth is, wisdom alone cannot guarantee that one’s decisions would be correct. Maybe my belief in God is right. But in this case, being right does not prove me wiser than any atheist. Maybe the atheists are correct in believing that there is no God. But being correct alone does not make them wiser than believers like me.
I believe in God. Which means that I already took a leap in the dark. The leap hasn’t ended yet, though. For the truth hasn’t fully revealed itself to me yet. I am still airborne, hoping that I will land somewhere safe. Will I plummet to death? Maybe. But even if that happens, it will happen not because I’m a fool.
I will only fall because I am human.
The Death of Dreams, The Birth of Nightmares
The future is only as beautiful as the dreams of today’s children. All the comforts we relish today, all the freedoms we enjoy, all the wonderful technologies that keep us alive and driven to move farther forward, they are all legacies of the children who dared to dream big long before were born. And whatever beautiful breakthroughs shall be here tomorrow only depends on what today’s generation can come up with.
When I see pictures of Rome, Athens and the pyramids of Egypt, I can’t help but think of the dreams had by the children who grew up to build those cities and structures. When I see pictures of the New York Skyline, I think of the impoverished European immigrants who sailed across the Atlantic hundreds of years ago, most of them carrying nothing with them but their dreams and their promising children. When I see pictures of the Great Wall, the remarkable Chinese architecture and calligraphy, and the elegant clothes worn by the Chinese as early as 2,000 years ago, I think of the ancient Chinese children who dreamed of refining their own culture. When I see the filth of the Philippines, the beggars on Manila’s stinking streets, the murky waters of the Pasig River, the anarchic way by which illegal vendors occupy the two lanes of Commonwealth Avenue at night (until the Metro Manila Development Authority acted on the matter), the sewers that are always clogged, the coverless manholes, the potholed roads, the agony of commuting when the streets are flooded, the garbage on the streets, the garbage on the escalator steps of the MRT (Metropolital Rail Transit) Ayala station (which reveal that even the highly educated professionals in the country’s central business district have the shamelessness to throw away their trash anywhere), animal carcasses flattened in the middle of highways, the shanties under the bridges, and the 10 to 20 children who cram themselves in one small tricycle just to get a cheap ride to school everyday, I can’t help but think of the beautiful dreams the ancient Filipino children never had.
Albert Einstein taught himself calculus at the age of 12. That must have been in 1891. And in that year, how many Filipino twelve-year-olds were dreaming Einstein’s dreams? I doubt if any of them even heard the term calculus. If the legend is true, the legendary apple must have fallen from a tree and onto Isaac Newton’s head sometime in the 1660’s , when the man responsible for the Laws of Motion, Calculus, Universal Law of Gravitation and the Particle Theory of Light was still in his early twenties. In that period, how many twenty-something Filipinos had heard of Johannes Kepler, Nicolus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei –the giants on whose shoulders Isaac Newton stood? In the 19th century, when the likes of Thomas Edison and James Watt were dreaming of marvelous inventions, how many Filipino children were familiar with the concept of invention? Since that was a time when there were no public schools in the country, zero should be a safe answer. From 1521—the year in which the Spaniards supposedly discovered the Philippines—to 1896—the outbreak of the Philippine Revolution—what dreams did Filipino children dream? Aside from becoming corrupt politicians and wealthy feudal lords, I doubt if there’s anything bigger for those poor children to dream.
The painful truth is that the children of pre-20th-century Philippines never had the chance to dream most of the glorious dreams we have today, let alone the dreams of their western counterparts. But that truth is only painful in the sense that there is not much for us to cherish as a nation today as a result of our ancestors’ limited dreams. Had they had bigger dreams, perhaps their frustrations had also been much more painful. Even the dreamiest child would run out of good dreams if everyday of his life, the only kind of success he sees is that of corrupt officials and feudal lords. No wonder most of yesterday’s Filipino children either grew up slowly killing their beautiful dreams or nurturing the evil ones. No wonder the country is what it is right now.
There is still hope, though. Because compared to the people of wealthier nations around us, the Filipinos have been free to dream big for a very short time. Someday the dreams of today’s children may also be realized. Someday this nation may also be great. Maybe. Depending on what dreams our children today have. But what dreams do today’s children have? They dream of becoming the people they admire. But whom can they admire? Whom can they follow?
It’s bad enough that we do not have an Isaac Newton or an Albert Einstein for our children to look up to. The situation even gets worse when corrupt officials bask in the spotlight, their success broadcast on national television, all for our children to see, while our great scientists and artists fade quietly into their deaths, and into oblivion.
Not too long ago, Jun Lozada testified in the Philippine Senate against Comelec (Commission on Elections) Chairman Benjamin Abalos. The former alleged that the contract to establish a National Broadband Network (NBN) for the Philippine government was awarded to a company called ZTE because of the latter’s sinister machinations. As the senate hearings went on, several columnists pointed out that the hearings were an exercise in futility, that everything Lozada had done would lead to nothing but failure. And they were right.
A few years ago, a few enlightened congressmen moved to impeach President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo after an audio record of her phone conversation with Virgilio Garcillano (a COMELEC commissioner) was found. The conversation supposedly occurred during the course of counting of ballots in 2004-when Ms. Arroyo was among the presidential candidates, which was unforgivably unethical. Many journalists predicted that the impeachment attempt would be a failure. And they were right. The congressmen involved in the impeachment attempt failed.
In 2003, surveys revealed that former Senator Raul Roco was the leading candidate for President. By May 2004, when the elections were held, he was dead last among five candidates. The years 2003-2004 were among the saddest for Filipino idealists. That was a time when even the idealist supporters of Raul Roco swung towards Gloria Macapagal Arroyo because they feared that Roco did not have the political machinery to defeat Fernando Poe Jr.—a popular movie actor with absolutely no experience in governance. Many of them claimed that a vote for Roco would go to waste because he would certainly not win. And in a way, they were right. Roco lost.
Now I’m compelled to think of the heroes who fought for our freedom more than a hundred years ago. Jose Rizal, Andres Bonifacio, Emilio Jacinto, Antonio Luna, Gregorio Del Pilar and Apolinario Mabini dedicated their lives to the fight for freedom. Did the prospect of failure ever bother them? I’m sure it did. And I’m sure during the turbulent days of the revolution, not a few pragmatists advised them to throw away their dreams because they were bound to fail anyway. And the pragmatists were right. Jose Rizal was executed by the Spaniards. Bonifacio and Luna were executed by their own comrades. Emilio Jacinto died of Malaria while leading a group of brave Filipino soldiers in Laguna during the Philippine-American war. Gregorio Del Pilar was killed by the Americans in battle. Apolinario Mabini was exiled. Should they have thrown away their dreams before they even attempted to realize them?
What if the Philippine Revolution never happened? What if Jose Rizal never wrote Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo (the two novels that sparked the revolution)? What would we tell our children when they ask about Filipino heroes? Who would be there for our children to emulate? I know many of our heroes failed. But I am grateful for their attempts. Because had they not done anything at all, I would have grown up feeling absolutely no sense of national pride. We all would have grown up feeling no sense of national pride. They failed. But their failures matter. Because of them, there are still a few good men who work honestly and efficiently in government. Because of them, there are still soldiers who die for their country. Because of them, there are still teachers who teach in far-flung barrios, notwithstanding the threats of malaria and abductions by rebels. Because of them, there are still poorly paid Filipino judges who make the justice system work. Because of these failed men, there are still impoverished cops who run after the thugs, and not with the thugs. Because of them, there are still patriotic entrepreneurs who still continue to invest here instead of bringing their money to another country. Because of them, there are Filipino children today who still DREAM of becoming good men and women tomorrow.
The hearings on the NBN scandal and the impeachment attempt against President Arroyo in 2005 may have been failures. But these are failures that will forever matter. These failures will inspire. Because of them, tomorrow will never run out of good men and women who will take a stand against corruption.
Sometimes, when I think of witnesses like Jun Lozada and the congressmen who tried to impeach President Arroyo, I can’t help but compare them to test pilots. When a test pilot climbs into the cockpit of a newly designed aircraft, he doesn’t know if he’s going to survive the flight or not. But he’ll certainly fly the damn thing. When the flight is successful and the pilot lives, everyone below celebrates and can’t wait to rub shoulders with triumphant pilot. But if the aircraft explodes in midair, even if it’s not the pilot’s fault, the people below—the engineers, mechanics, financiers and spectators—would do anything to dissociate themselves from the failed flight attempt and the heroic pilot’s name would end up buried in oblivion. Yet, no matter how many test pilots die, the world never seems to run out of them. Because as long as children can see the planes that fly, there will be children who’d dream of flying. As long as they can see the courage of the test pilots, they would have a reason to be courageous themselves. As long as children can see heroes, there will be children who’d dream of becoming heroes. When a plane crashes down, the right thing to do is not to quit flying but to build a better plane. When heroes fail, the right thing to do is not to stop being good but to be better.
Which reminds me of Raul Roco’s defeat in the 2004 presidential elections. When Roco’s supporters voted for Arroyo just to avoid a Fernando Poe Jr. presidency, they forgot two important things about voting. First, voting is not just a matter of letting someone win a government post. To vote is to take a stand and let that stand be counted. Second, why, in the first place, were there so many people eager to vote Fernando Poe Jr. for president? (I don’t mind the fact that he’s an actor. What I can’t stand is the thought that many of those people who voted for him did so because he was a popular actor.) It’s because so many children of yesterday grew up dreaming the wrong dreams. If none of us could stand for our right dreams today, if all of us would be afraid to fail, if none of us could vote for the candidate we truly believe in, how can we expect the next generation to have better dreams?
When we talk of dreamers, we should not only remember the ones who were gifts to mankind. Because the worst atrocities in human history were committed by the most passionate dreamers. Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Atilla the Hun, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler. What do these men have in common aside from unspeakable terror upon mankind? They all lived in environments wherein the ultimate form of success was either victory in war or triumph in politics. And being the passionate dreamers that they were, they aimed for nothing less than the ultimate success.
When the Roco supporters opted not to vote for him because they feared that his political machinery was too weak compared to those of Arroyo and Poe, they were essentially handing the gift of success to Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, a success that the children of today would also want to have someday. None of those voters should be surprised then if the next generation produces ten new Gloria Arroyos and zero Raul Rocos. When we silence all the Jun Lozadas, we let the corrupt rule our land with impunity. And tomorrow, no one should be surprised if the innocent children become the corrupt rulers of the land.
I wonder what kind of dreams Osama Bin Laden had when he was a child. Maybe the young Bin Laden had often heard about the adventures of Francis Drake, the British pirate who was knighted for sinking Spanish ships--many of them merchant vessels manned by helpless, impoverished civilians—and despite the fact that he had raided African villages to capture slaves he would later sell to his wealthy compatriots. Maybe the little Osama thought that if a British pirate who had brutally killed innocent sailors and enslaved poor African villagers could be knighted, his own acts of terrorism might also compel the world to eventually address him someday as Sir Osama.
I wonder what kind of dreams the children of Iraq had when the country was under Saddam Hussein. Maybe some of them were thinking, “If a man like Saddam could be called a President, I might as well be the next Saddam.” I wonder what the children of today’s Iraq are dreaming. Maybe some of them are saying, “If a warmonger like George W. Bush could become President of the world’s most powerful country, I might as well become the George W. Bush of my own country.” I wonder what the children of Gaza are thinking. Maybe some of them are thinking, “If those men who bomb our homes can be called soldiers, I might as well be the fiercest soldier for my people.” I wonder what the other children of Palestine are thinking. Maybe some would say, “If all those citizens of other countries couldn’t give a damn about our dreams to live in peace, why should I ever care about their own dreams?” I wonder what all the impoverished children of third world countries are thinking. Maybe some are saying, “If life can’t offer me any job that’s more fulfilling than being a rebel or a terrorist, why shouldn’t I get the best job I could have?”
Walking on the streets of Manila, I still held the empty can of cola in my hand until I could find the nearest garbage can. As I walked on, several bystanders stared at me incredulously. They must have been thinking, “Why can’t this stupid guy just dump his trash on the streets like most people do?” And I was thinking, “Why can’t I just give up my dream of having a clean Manila? How much cleaner would the city be because of one piece of trash that I refuse to dump on the street?” Sometimes, it gets really exhausting.
I hope there are more dreamers out there. Ones who are stronger, brighter and more powerful than I am. I hope there are more people out there who can show the children of today that there are good dreams to dream. I hope they would never grow tired of their own beautiful dreams.
Because when all good dreams die, the worst nightmares are born.
When I see pictures of Rome, Athens and the pyramids of Egypt, I can’t help but think of the dreams had by the children who grew up to build those cities and structures. When I see pictures of the New York Skyline, I think of the impoverished European immigrants who sailed across the Atlantic hundreds of years ago, most of them carrying nothing with them but their dreams and their promising children. When I see pictures of the Great Wall, the remarkable Chinese architecture and calligraphy, and the elegant clothes worn by the Chinese as early as 2,000 years ago, I think of the ancient Chinese children who dreamed of refining their own culture. When I see the filth of the Philippines, the beggars on Manila’s stinking streets, the murky waters of the Pasig River, the anarchic way by which illegal vendors occupy the two lanes of Commonwealth Avenue at night (until the Metro Manila Development Authority acted on the matter), the sewers that are always clogged, the coverless manholes, the potholed roads, the agony of commuting when the streets are flooded, the garbage on the streets, the garbage on the escalator steps of the MRT (Metropolital Rail Transit) Ayala station (which reveal that even the highly educated professionals in the country’s central business district have the shamelessness to throw away their trash anywhere), animal carcasses flattened in the middle of highways, the shanties under the bridges, and the 10 to 20 children who cram themselves in one small tricycle just to get a cheap ride to school everyday, I can’t help but think of the beautiful dreams the ancient Filipino children never had.
Albert Einstein taught himself calculus at the age of 12. That must have been in 1891. And in that year, how many Filipino twelve-year-olds were dreaming Einstein’s dreams? I doubt if any of them even heard the term calculus. If the legend is true, the legendary apple must have fallen from a tree and onto Isaac Newton’s head sometime in the 1660’s , when the man responsible for the Laws of Motion, Calculus, Universal Law of Gravitation and the Particle Theory of Light was still in his early twenties. In that period, how many twenty-something Filipinos had heard of Johannes Kepler, Nicolus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei –the giants on whose shoulders Isaac Newton stood? In the 19th century, when the likes of Thomas Edison and James Watt were dreaming of marvelous inventions, how many Filipino children were familiar with the concept of invention? Since that was a time when there were no public schools in the country, zero should be a safe answer. From 1521—the year in which the Spaniards supposedly discovered the Philippines—to 1896—the outbreak of the Philippine Revolution—what dreams did Filipino children dream? Aside from becoming corrupt politicians and wealthy feudal lords, I doubt if there’s anything bigger for those poor children to dream.
The painful truth is that the children of pre-20th-century Philippines never had the chance to dream most of the glorious dreams we have today, let alone the dreams of their western counterparts. But that truth is only painful in the sense that there is not much for us to cherish as a nation today as a result of our ancestors’ limited dreams. Had they had bigger dreams, perhaps their frustrations had also been much more painful. Even the dreamiest child would run out of good dreams if everyday of his life, the only kind of success he sees is that of corrupt officials and feudal lords. No wonder most of yesterday’s Filipino children either grew up slowly killing their beautiful dreams or nurturing the evil ones. No wonder the country is what it is right now.
There is still hope, though. Because compared to the people of wealthier nations around us, the Filipinos have been free to dream big for a very short time. Someday the dreams of today’s children may also be realized. Someday this nation may also be great. Maybe. Depending on what dreams our children today have. But what dreams do today’s children have? They dream of becoming the people they admire. But whom can they admire? Whom can they follow?
It’s bad enough that we do not have an Isaac Newton or an Albert Einstein for our children to look up to. The situation even gets worse when corrupt officials bask in the spotlight, their success broadcast on national television, all for our children to see, while our great scientists and artists fade quietly into their deaths, and into oblivion.
Not too long ago, Jun Lozada testified in the Philippine Senate against Comelec (Commission on Elections) Chairman Benjamin Abalos. The former alleged that the contract to establish a National Broadband Network (NBN) for the Philippine government was awarded to a company called ZTE because of the latter’s sinister machinations. As the senate hearings went on, several columnists pointed out that the hearings were an exercise in futility, that everything Lozada had done would lead to nothing but failure. And they were right.
A few years ago, a few enlightened congressmen moved to impeach President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo after an audio record of her phone conversation with Virgilio Garcillano (a COMELEC commissioner) was found. The conversation supposedly occurred during the course of counting of ballots in 2004-when Ms. Arroyo was among the presidential candidates, which was unforgivably unethical. Many journalists predicted that the impeachment attempt would be a failure. And they were right. The congressmen involved in the impeachment attempt failed.
In 2003, surveys revealed that former Senator Raul Roco was the leading candidate for President. By May 2004, when the elections were held, he was dead last among five candidates. The years 2003-2004 were among the saddest for Filipino idealists. That was a time when even the idealist supporters of Raul Roco swung towards Gloria Macapagal Arroyo because they feared that Roco did not have the political machinery to defeat Fernando Poe Jr.—a popular movie actor with absolutely no experience in governance. Many of them claimed that a vote for Roco would go to waste because he would certainly not win. And in a way, they were right. Roco lost.
Now I’m compelled to think of the heroes who fought for our freedom more than a hundred years ago. Jose Rizal, Andres Bonifacio, Emilio Jacinto, Antonio Luna, Gregorio Del Pilar and Apolinario Mabini dedicated their lives to the fight for freedom. Did the prospect of failure ever bother them? I’m sure it did. And I’m sure during the turbulent days of the revolution, not a few pragmatists advised them to throw away their dreams because they were bound to fail anyway. And the pragmatists were right. Jose Rizal was executed by the Spaniards. Bonifacio and Luna were executed by their own comrades. Emilio Jacinto died of Malaria while leading a group of brave Filipino soldiers in Laguna during the Philippine-American war. Gregorio Del Pilar was killed by the Americans in battle. Apolinario Mabini was exiled. Should they have thrown away their dreams before they even attempted to realize them?
What if the Philippine Revolution never happened? What if Jose Rizal never wrote Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo (the two novels that sparked the revolution)? What would we tell our children when they ask about Filipino heroes? Who would be there for our children to emulate? I know many of our heroes failed. But I am grateful for their attempts. Because had they not done anything at all, I would have grown up feeling absolutely no sense of national pride. We all would have grown up feeling no sense of national pride. They failed. But their failures matter. Because of them, there are still a few good men who work honestly and efficiently in government. Because of them, there are still soldiers who die for their country. Because of them, there are still teachers who teach in far-flung barrios, notwithstanding the threats of malaria and abductions by rebels. Because of them, there are still poorly paid Filipino judges who make the justice system work. Because of these failed men, there are still impoverished cops who run after the thugs, and not with the thugs. Because of them, there are still patriotic entrepreneurs who still continue to invest here instead of bringing their money to another country. Because of them, there are Filipino children today who still DREAM of becoming good men and women tomorrow.
The hearings on the NBN scandal and the impeachment attempt against President Arroyo in 2005 may have been failures. But these are failures that will forever matter. These failures will inspire. Because of them, tomorrow will never run out of good men and women who will take a stand against corruption.
Sometimes, when I think of witnesses like Jun Lozada and the congressmen who tried to impeach President Arroyo, I can’t help but compare them to test pilots. When a test pilot climbs into the cockpit of a newly designed aircraft, he doesn’t know if he’s going to survive the flight or not. But he’ll certainly fly the damn thing. When the flight is successful and the pilot lives, everyone below celebrates and can’t wait to rub shoulders with triumphant pilot. But if the aircraft explodes in midair, even if it’s not the pilot’s fault, the people below—the engineers, mechanics, financiers and spectators—would do anything to dissociate themselves from the failed flight attempt and the heroic pilot’s name would end up buried in oblivion. Yet, no matter how many test pilots die, the world never seems to run out of them. Because as long as children can see the planes that fly, there will be children who’d dream of flying. As long as they can see the courage of the test pilots, they would have a reason to be courageous themselves. As long as children can see heroes, there will be children who’d dream of becoming heroes. When a plane crashes down, the right thing to do is not to quit flying but to build a better plane. When heroes fail, the right thing to do is not to stop being good but to be better.
Which reminds me of Raul Roco’s defeat in the 2004 presidential elections. When Roco’s supporters voted for Arroyo just to avoid a Fernando Poe Jr. presidency, they forgot two important things about voting. First, voting is not just a matter of letting someone win a government post. To vote is to take a stand and let that stand be counted. Second, why, in the first place, were there so many people eager to vote Fernando Poe Jr. for president? (I don’t mind the fact that he’s an actor. What I can’t stand is the thought that many of those people who voted for him did so because he was a popular actor.) It’s because so many children of yesterday grew up dreaming the wrong dreams. If none of us could stand for our right dreams today, if all of us would be afraid to fail, if none of us could vote for the candidate we truly believe in, how can we expect the next generation to have better dreams?
When we talk of dreamers, we should not only remember the ones who were gifts to mankind. Because the worst atrocities in human history were committed by the most passionate dreamers. Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Atilla the Hun, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler. What do these men have in common aside from unspeakable terror upon mankind? They all lived in environments wherein the ultimate form of success was either victory in war or triumph in politics. And being the passionate dreamers that they were, they aimed for nothing less than the ultimate success.
When the Roco supporters opted not to vote for him because they feared that his political machinery was too weak compared to those of Arroyo and Poe, they were essentially handing the gift of success to Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, a success that the children of today would also want to have someday. None of those voters should be surprised then if the next generation produces ten new Gloria Arroyos and zero Raul Rocos. When we silence all the Jun Lozadas, we let the corrupt rule our land with impunity. And tomorrow, no one should be surprised if the innocent children become the corrupt rulers of the land.
I wonder what kind of dreams Osama Bin Laden had when he was a child. Maybe the young Bin Laden had often heard about the adventures of Francis Drake, the British pirate who was knighted for sinking Spanish ships--many of them merchant vessels manned by helpless, impoverished civilians—and despite the fact that he had raided African villages to capture slaves he would later sell to his wealthy compatriots. Maybe the little Osama thought that if a British pirate who had brutally killed innocent sailors and enslaved poor African villagers could be knighted, his own acts of terrorism might also compel the world to eventually address him someday as Sir Osama.
I wonder what kind of dreams the children of Iraq had when the country was under Saddam Hussein. Maybe some of them were thinking, “If a man like Saddam could be called a President, I might as well be the next Saddam.” I wonder what the children of today’s Iraq are dreaming. Maybe some of them are saying, “If a warmonger like George W. Bush could become President of the world’s most powerful country, I might as well become the George W. Bush of my own country.” I wonder what the children of Gaza are thinking. Maybe some of them are thinking, “If those men who bomb our homes can be called soldiers, I might as well be the fiercest soldier for my people.” I wonder what the other children of Palestine are thinking. Maybe some would say, “If all those citizens of other countries couldn’t give a damn about our dreams to live in peace, why should I ever care about their own dreams?” I wonder what all the impoverished children of third world countries are thinking. Maybe some are saying, “If life can’t offer me any job that’s more fulfilling than being a rebel or a terrorist, why shouldn’t I get the best job I could have?”
Walking on the streets of Manila, I still held the empty can of cola in my hand until I could find the nearest garbage can. As I walked on, several bystanders stared at me incredulously. They must have been thinking, “Why can’t this stupid guy just dump his trash on the streets like most people do?” And I was thinking, “Why can’t I just give up my dream of having a clean Manila? How much cleaner would the city be because of one piece of trash that I refuse to dump on the street?” Sometimes, it gets really exhausting.
I hope there are more dreamers out there. Ones who are stronger, brighter and more powerful than I am. I hope there are more people out there who can show the children of today that there are good dreams to dream. I hope they would never grow tired of their own beautiful dreams.
Because when all good dreams die, the worst nightmares are born.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Angels' Children Are Marching To Hell
What is life? Is life just a matter of being born into this world, never mind how much suffering one has to go through after birth? Is life nothing more than being able to wake up each day and see the sun? Is life nothing more than being able to breathe, to feel the air?
What is not life? When a five-year-old girl has to beg for her food everyday on the dangerous streets of Manila, what she’s having is not life! That is cruelty. That is hell. When innocent children are being born only to serve as their parents’ cheap laborers, it is definitely not life that they’re having. When children as young as four years old are breaking stones everyday to feed themselves instead of playing with toys, what they’re having is definitely not life. When those beautiful little girls are still out on the dark streets of Manila at night just to peddle sampaguita garlands, making themselves extremely vulnerable to rapists and pedophiles, they do not have anything close to a life. When children are out of school and chasing garbage trucks to steal a few pieces of junk that can still be sold, they are deprived of life. When young boys are picking up guns to become terrorists and criminals just so they can feed their younger siblings, fulfilling responsibilities that they never chose to have, what they’re having is the exact opposite of life. When the brightest young men and women of this country are sacrificing their education, their careers and their happiness just take over their parents’ responsibility to feed and educate their siblings; they’re having the farthest thing from life.
In the Philippines, in this predominantly catholic country, countless souls are experiencing the exact opposite of life. And because we never seem to run out of Pro-Life advocates who vehemently oppose birth control, because there are people who preach that contraception is a sin and that bringing a child into this world will always please heaven, there will be millions more to experience the exact opposite of life. There shall be millions more to experience hell.
But you know what life is? Life is something had by well-off Pro-Life senators who work comfortably in the air-conditioned halls and offices of the Philippine Senate. Life is something had by the middle-class CFC (Couples for Christ) members who could afford to go to church in decent clothes each Sunday, the same people who take a stand against contraception. Life is something had by the bishops who go around the city in private cars and are able to eat three times a day without having to commit a sin, the same holy men who give homilies demonizing the proponents of birth control. Life is something had by the Pro-Life congressmen who win votes by blocking every bill that encourages birth control. Life was the one thing celebrated by the irresponsible parents when they conceived the children they could never take good care of.
Unbelievably, these people, the ones who had experienced and celebrated life, may even get something beyond life. Because of their deeds, they might earn tickets to heaven. The Pro-Life priests, churchgoers and politicians will be rewarded for their efforts to discourage contraception. They might even earn more rewards for encouraging parents to procreate. As for the parents, they’ll be rewarded for their aversion to contraceptives. They’ll be rewarded for each tiring day that they tried to take care of their children. They’ll be rewarded for their futile attempts to sufficiently feed all their children, even though from the start, they should have known that they never had the means to feed all of them. They’ll be rewarded for the countless times they selflessly prayed to God begging Him to let their children miraculously finish college, even though from the start, they should have had the foresight to anticipate their children’s educational needs, that they shouldn’t have conceived them in the first place if they cannot give them the education they deserve. They’ll be rewarded for all the emotional suffering they endured as they watched their children pitifully chase garbage trucks and steal every exposed piece of metal on the streets of Manila, even though prior to the conception of their children, they should have had made sure they had the capability to offer their children a real life.
I shudder to think how things would be in and hell someday. In heaven shall be the Pro-Life priests, nuns, churchgoers and politicians, relishing the cool, soothing air of the paradise. And in that same place, the parents, freed of their earthly burdens, will feel as light as air, their light allowing them to fly beautifully like angels. While down there in hell, burning in the deep, seething ocean of fire are the poor children who had been born to a cruel, apathetic world because those happy Pro-Life advocates encouraged their irresponsible parents to procreate. In hell shall be the children who had to become pickpockets just to feed themselves. In there shall be the little boys who had to work as lookouts for hold-uppers and hired killers because there was nothing else they could do to earn a living and feed their younger siblings. In hell shall be the young boys who became terrorists and bandits just to take over their parents’ duty of being the breadwinners. In hell shall be the poor kids who got imprisoned at an early age and whose minds were poisoned by the violent culture of the older prisoners.
Perhaps, out of rage, the children of hell shall question the wisdom of God. “God, why are those privileged angels up there while we are down here suffering?” they’ll say. “Why do you reward them when in their lives, all they cared about was saving their own souls? Why are they so happy now when they never suffered on earth as much as we did? Why do you reward them for bringing more poor children like us into the world? Does it make you happy to see all those angels’ poor children marching to hell? Why do you make them so happy now when in life, all they cared about was the love they could get from their own children, when they never even thought if we, their children, would ever find enough time in our grueling lives to love and feel loved?”
Now, the pro-life advocates out there might say that the children are marching to hell not because parents are irresponsibly conceiving them but because there is so much evil in this world. Because there is poverty in this country. Those are the sickest arguments one could ever hear.
Let’s say a preacher tells his young followers to dive into a river teeming with crocodiles. If the followers do as the preacher says, some of them may elude the crocodiles. But what fool would expect all of them to survive? If you are one of those followers who sees how your friends are being ripped apart by those ravenous reptiles, whom will you be more furious at? The crocodiles that devoured your friends? Or the preacher who told all of you to dive into that river? And if you can see how your friends are being brutally killed by the reptiles, will you not do anything to stop the preacher from telling more followers to swim in that river of death?
Yes, it is possible for even the most impoverished, underprivileged children to remain good. And there is nothing wrong in hoping that they would all resist the earthly temptations that come their way. But to expect that every child who grows up without getting all the financial and emotional support he needs will become a saint, that every such child would never be tempted to kill and steal for his food, that each one will never dream of being rich through illegal means, that each one would be able to contain all the seething angst inside of him, that is like telling innocent children to dive into a crocodile-infested river and praying that all of them would survive! Like it or not, as long as there are children who can not have a real life, as long as there are children who have to work to feed themselves, as long as there are children who have a reason to question the kindness of God and the fairness of society, as long as there are bright children who can not go to school, as long as there are children who can’t be taken care of by their parents, there will be sinners among these children. There will be more souls for the devil to reap.
Can the souls of those children still be saved? Of course. Why not? If you tell some children to swim in a crocodile-infested river, you can still try to rescue them after they obey you, right? But how many can you save?
Some people might say that the real problem of the country is not overpopulation but the unequal distribution of resources, and so birth control is not really a solution to the ills of this nation. But this argument is wrong in two ways. First, while I agree that the unequal distribution of the country’s resources is a problem, that problem should not be passed on irresponsibly to helpless children. Until the resources of the country are properly distributed among the people, no one has the right to tell every Filipino parent not to practice birth control. Second, the ultimate goal of birth control is not population control but the preservation of the most important human right—the right to have a real life. Whether the population of the world is 6 billion or 600,000, no parent has the right to conceive a child if he can’t offer the latter a real life. No parent should be so selfish as to feel a child’s love at the cost of letting the child suffer in this world.
“Anak ko, mahal ko. Condom, ayoko,” says the writing on the wall of the Ascension of Our Lord parish in Lagro, Quezon City. In English, that means, “I love my child. I don’t want condoms.” How could there be so much crap in the church of God? And how could so many Catholics be buying that crap?
Seeing that writing on the wall reminded me of Niccolo Machiavelli, author of the controversial book The Prince, in which he wrote, “The end justifies the means.” For Machiavelli, even if a prince brutally executes an innocent man in public, if that unjust execution instills fear in the heart of his constituents and maintains order in his realm, the prince is still essentially doing the right because he is achieving his desired end, even if an innocent man is killed in the process."
When a catholic saves his soul by refusing to use contraceptives and pleases God through the act of procreation, never mind if another child will grow up struggling to feed himself and may end up selling his soul to the devil out of poverty, that Catholic is no more just nor less immoral than Macchiavelli. Because he is attaining an end (salvation) through a means that sacrifices the welfare of an innocent child. A church that teaches Catholics to act that way is a church that encourages its flock to attain an end through a means that brings suffering to helpless children. A church that tells its flock to save their souls by avoiding contraception is a Machiavellian church.
A few centuries ago, the Catholic Church imprisoned Galileo for simply telling the truth – that the earth is not the center of the universe. That fiasco was one of the lowest points in the history of the church. And it never should have happened if there were enough enlightened Catholics who stood up and challenged the wisdom of the church. Before that, the Church also launched crusades to conquer the holy land, all of which led to the deaths of countless innocent people. If only there were Catholics brave enough to oppose their bloodthirsty church leaders, all those innocent lives could have been spared. I am a Catholic. And I will not allow posterity to liken me to the cowards who never lifted a finger when Galileo was imprisoned and when the crusades were launched. If I know that the church is wrong about contraception, why should I hesitate to oppose my own church's view?
Remember, the lowest points in the history of the Catholic Church were reached when all the good, enlightened Catholics remained silent.
What is not life? When a five-year-old girl has to beg for her food everyday on the dangerous streets of Manila, what she’s having is not life! That is cruelty. That is hell. When innocent children are being born only to serve as their parents’ cheap laborers, it is definitely not life that they’re having. When children as young as four years old are breaking stones everyday to feed themselves instead of playing with toys, what they’re having is definitely not life. When those beautiful little girls are still out on the dark streets of Manila at night just to peddle sampaguita garlands, making themselves extremely vulnerable to rapists and pedophiles, they do not have anything close to a life. When children are out of school and chasing garbage trucks to steal a few pieces of junk that can still be sold, they are deprived of life. When young boys are picking up guns to become terrorists and criminals just so they can feed their younger siblings, fulfilling responsibilities that they never chose to have, what they’re having is the exact opposite of life. When the brightest young men and women of this country are sacrificing their education, their careers and their happiness just take over their parents’ responsibility to feed and educate their siblings; they’re having the farthest thing from life.
In the Philippines, in this predominantly catholic country, countless souls are experiencing the exact opposite of life. And because we never seem to run out of Pro-Life advocates who vehemently oppose birth control, because there are people who preach that contraception is a sin and that bringing a child into this world will always please heaven, there will be millions more to experience the exact opposite of life. There shall be millions more to experience hell.
But you know what life is? Life is something had by well-off Pro-Life senators who work comfortably in the air-conditioned halls and offices of the Philippine Senate. Life is something had by the middle-class CFC (Couples for Christ) members who could afford to go to church in decent clothes each Sunday, the same people who take a stand against contraception. Life is something had by the bishops who go around the city in private cars and are able to eat three times a day without having to commit a sin, the same holy men who give homilies demonizing the proponents of birth control. Life is something had by the Pro-Life congressmen who win votes by blocking every bill that encourages birth control. Life was the one thing celebrated by the irresponsible parents when they conceived the children they could never take good care of.
Unbelievably, these people, the ones who had experienced and celebrated life, may even get something beyond life. Because of their deeds, they might earn tickets to heaven. The Pro-Life priests, churchgoers and politicians will be rewarded for their efforts to discourage contraception. They might even earn more rewards for encouraging parents to procreate. As for the parents, they’ll be rewarded for their aversion to contraceptives. They’ll be rewarded for each tiring day that they tried to take care of their children. They’ll be rewarded for their futile attempts to sufficiently feed all their children, even though from the start, they should have known that they never had the means to feed all of them. They’ll be rewarded for the countless times they selflessly prayed to God begging Him to let their children miraculously finish college, even though from the start, they should have had the foresight to anticipate their children’s educational needs, that they shouldn’t have conceived them in the first place if they cannot give them the education they deserve. They’ll be rewarded for all the emotional suffering they endured as they watched their children pitifully chase garbage trucks and steal every exposed piece of metal on the streets of Manila, even though prior to the conception of their children, they should have had made sure they had the capability to offer their children a real life.
I shudder to think how things would be in and hell someday. In heaven shall be the Pro-Life priests, nuns, churchgoers and politicians, relishing the cool, soothing air of the paradise. And in that same place, the parents, freed of their earthly burdens, will feel as light as air, their light allowing them to fly beautifully like angels. While down there in hell, burning in the deep, seething ocean of fire are the poor children who had been born to a cruel, apathetic world because those happy Pro-Life advocates encouraged their irresponsible parents to procreate. In hell shall be the children who had to become pickpockets just to feed themselves. In there shall be the little boys who had to work as lookouts for hold-uppers and hired killers because there was nothing else they could do to earn a living and feed their younger siblings. In hell shall be the young boys who became terrorists and bandits just to take over their parents’ duty of being the breadwinners. In hell shall be the poor kids who got imprisoned at an early age and whose minds were poisoned by the violent culture of the older prisoners.
Perhaps, out of rage, the children of hell shall question the wisdom of God. “God, why are those privileged angels up there while we are down here suffering?” they’ll say. “Why do you reward them when in their lives, all they cared about was saving their own souls? Why are they so happy now when they never suffered on earth as much as we did? Why do you reward them for bringing more poor children like us into the world? Does it make you happy to see all those angels’ poor children marching to hell? Why do you make them so happy now when in life, all they cared about was the love they could get from their own children, when they never even thought if we, their children, would ever find enough time in our grueling lives to love and feel loved?”
Now, the pro-life advocates out there might say that the children are marching to hell not because parents are irresponsibly conceiving them but because there is so much evil in this world. Because there is poverty in this country. Those are the sickest arguments one could ever hear.
Let’s say a preacher tells his young followers to dive into a river teeming with crocodiles. If the followers do as the preacher says, some of them may elude the crocodiles. But what fool would expect all of them to survive? If you are one of those followers who sees how your friends are being ripped apart by those ravenous reptiles, whom will you be more furious at? The crocodiles that devoured your friends? Or the preacher who told all of you to dive into that river? And if you can see how your friends are being brutally killed by the reptiles, will you not do anything to stop the preacher from telling more followers to swim in that river of death?
Yes, it is possible for even the most impoverished, underprivileged children to remain good. And there is nothing wrong in hoping that they would all resist the earthly temptations that come their way. But to expect that every child who grows up without getting all the financial and emotional support he needs will become a saint, that every such child would never be tempted to kill and steal for his food, that each one will never dream of being rich through illegal means, that each one would be able to contain all the seething angst inside of him, that is like telling innocent children to dive into a crocodile-infested river and praying that all of them would survive! Like it or not, as long as there are children who can not have a real life, as long as there are children who have to work to feed themselves, as long as there are children who have a reason to question the kindness of God and the fairness of society, as long as there are bright children who can not go to school, as long as there are children who can’t be taken care of by their parents, there will be sinners among these children. There will be more souls for the devil to reap.
Can the souls of those children still be saved? Of course. Why not? If you tell some children to swim in a crocodile-infested river, you can still try to rescue them after they obey you, right? But how many can you save?
Some people might say that the real problem of the country is not overpopulation but the unequal distribution of resources, and so birth control is not really a solution to the ills of this nation. But this argument is wrong in two ways. First, while I agree that the unequal distribution of the country’s resources is a problem, that problem should not be passed on irresponsibly to helpless children. Until the resources of the country are properly distributed among the people, no one has the right to tell every Filipino parent not to practice birth control. Second, the ultimate goal of birth control is not population control but the preservation of the most important human right—the right to have a real life. Whether the population of the world is 6 billion or 600,000, no parent has the right to conceive a child if he can’t offer the latter a real life. No parent should be so selfish as to feel a child’s love at the cost of letting the child suffer in this world.
“Anak ko, mahal ko. Condom, ayoko,” says the writing on the wall of the Ascension of Our Lord parish in Lagro, Quezon City. In English, that means, “I love my child. I don’t want condoms.” How could there be so much crap in the church of God? And how could so many Catholics be buying that crap?
Seeing that writing on the wall reminded me of Niccolo Machiavelli, author of the controversial book The Prince, in which he wrote, “The end justifies the means.” For Machiavelli, even if a prince brutally executes an innocent man in public, if that unjust execution instills fear in the heart of his constituents and maintains order in his realm, the prince is still essentially doing the right because he is achieving his desired end, even if an innocent man is killed in the process."
When a catholic saves his soul by refusing to use contraceptives and pleases God through the act of procreation, never mind if another child will grow up struggling to feed himself and may end up selling his soul to the devil out of poverty, that Catholic is no more just nor less immoral than Macchiavelli. Because he is attaining an end (salvation) through a means that sacrifices the welfare of an innocent child. A church that teaches Catholics to act that way is a church that encourages its flock to attain an end through a means that brings suffering to helpless children. A church that tells its flock to save their souls by avoiding contraception is a Machiavellian church.
A few centuries ago, the Catholic Church imprisoned Galileo for simply telling the truth – that the earth is not the center of the universe. That fiasco was one of the lowest points in the history of the church. And it never should have happened if there were enough enlightened Catholics who stood up and challenged the wisdom of the church. Before that, the Church also launched crusades to conquer the holy land, all of which led to the deaths of countless innocent people. If only there were Catholics brave enough to oppose their bloodthirsty church leaders, all those innocent lives could have been spared. I am a Catholic. And I will not allow posterity to liken me to the cowards who never lifted a finger when Galileo was imprisoned and when the crusades were launched. If I know that the church is wrong about contraception, why should I hesitate to oppose my own church's view?
Remember, the lowest points in the history of the Catholic Church were reached when all the good, enlightened Catholics remained silent.
Every Warrior Wants To Go Home (The Underside of Chauvinism Part II)
Even as a child, I have already felt that fire of manhood, that longing to be in the battlefield, to slay the enemy no matter how many wounds I’d have to endure. And being in the battlefield didn’t always mean that I had to grasp a sword. The “battlefield” was any arena where I could excel. When I found out that I could write, I began spending every day of my life trying to improve my writing skills. So that I could excel. So that I could win. And more importantly, so that I could defeat someone. The same thing happened when I realized that somehow I can excel in the physical sciences. Like every other man, I have dreamed of being better than the rest. And like the many little boys who never would have bought a book by an unknown author named Joann Kathleen Rowling but might have thought otherwise if she used the androgynous pseudonym J. K. Rowling, I grew up nurturing an irrational desire to be superior to women.
After 26 years of my life, I finally found out why I’ve always wanted to win my own little wars and why I waged them in the first place. All this time, I’ve been marching repeatedly to the battlefields of life because I hungered for the beautiful feeling of coming home. And I wanted someone to be there when I come home wounded. It was never my instinct, as it has never been an instinct of any man, to dream of being superior to women. But I did want to be superior to women anyway. Because there is nothing more natural than a man’s instinctive desire to take care of a woman. I wanted to be superior because I was afraid that no woman would ever let me take care of her if I were inferior to them.
Ours is an era of monumental social changes. And monumental shortcomings of a society rushing to reform itself. In this era, it is wrong to believe that men should be superior to women. Gender Equality is a virtue that must be upheld by any respectable person. Yet in this grossly romantic world, it is still perfectly okay for a woman to say, “I want to find a lover who’s much stronger and more successful than I am, someone who can be proud to say someday that he only had all those achievements because he was inspired by me.” A woman who says that is a romantic, deemed by society as wise and sophisticated. But if a man says the same thing in public, he is a shameless gold-digger, period!
When a poor boy who grows up to become a millionaire rescues his beloved woman from the abominable pit of poverty, he is called a romantic. But when a poor boy escapes poverty after marrying a wealthy, beautiful woman, no matter how sincere his intentions are, no matter how pure his love is, he will never be called a romantic. He will only earn that description when he moves heaven and earth to match her success.
Everywhere, you hear men being taught to give way to the more competent women. And in those same places, men are being taught that women will only fall for the man who can outdo them. It is right for a man to accept defeat to a woman. But it is also still right for a man to accept that defeat with a deep bitterness. The princess should be free to go as far as she wants and as far as her talents can take her. But if a man wants to be her prince, he still has to be one step ahead of her.
I understand why the early warriors had been so fearless. When your happiness as a man—your hope of being loved by a woman—rests on your capability to prove your virility through war, why should you hesitate to pick up your weapons and go to war? If you’re a man today and your happiness greatly depends on how you can turn yourself into an adorable prince—someone who has the right to rescue a princess—why would you not do anything to become a prince? And if being a prince meant that you have to be superior to the romantic princess, why would you not do anything to be superior to women? Love drives heroes to fight their noble wars. It is the one thing that drrives poor boys to become great men. And it is the hunger for that love that forces the most kind-hearted men to become chauvinist pigs.
In the offices and institutions, the battle for gender equality is being won. More and more women are gaining access to career opportunities that had long been unjustly beyond their reach. But in the homes, on the streets, in the neighborhoods, the pall of defeat looms. Marriages are in turmoil because men can’t stand the pressure of being less successful than their wives. Somehow, they think that their failure to match their wives’ success is tantamount to impotence. The women, on the other hand, feel disappointed by their husbands’ failure to become the admirable princes of their dreams. And even if both the insecure husband and the powerful wife are happy in their home, when they walk on the street, they will still be mocked. He for being a gold-digger and she for being naïve.
Gender Equality is not just about the women having the right to become warriors. It’s also about the men having the right to stay home and take care of the children when the woman goes to war. It is about the man’s embrace being as sweet as that of any woman when the fearless female warrior comes home bleeding. It is not just about the women proving that they are stronger. It is also about the men humbly accepting that they are weaker and the rest of society not ridiculing them for that. It’s not just about letting the women reach the top. It is also about the men at the bottom being free to love the women at the top. It’s not just a matter of letting the wives become superior to their husbands. It is a matter of assuring each husband that no matter how inferior he is to his wife, he could still take care of her, she could still rest her head on his shoulder, he could still caress her gently as if she was the most fragile thing in this world. Gender Equality is not just about success. It’s about acceptance. It is not just a matter of letting the men and the women compete fairly. More than anything, it is a matter of letting the men and the women love freely.
I have always been fascinated by the great men who had accomplished amazing achievements because they were inspired by the women they loved. John Keats being inspired by Fanny Brawne, Petrarch by Laura, Jose Rizal by Leonor Rivera, Percy Byshe Shelly by his wife Mary and Pierre Curie by Marie (The last two men, incidentally, were outdone by their wives.). And I wonder, how many women had been inspired by men to accomplish great things but were never able to do as they had dreamed because they lived in chauvinistic times? How much better could this world have become if only those ambitious women were free to spread their wings? How much more meaningful would the lives of those men have been if they knew they were the inspiration of those great women? Maybe someday, men, like women, will feel pride in just being the inspiration of their successful spouses. For the good of humanity, that day will have to come soon.
Today, the warriors are still marching to the battlefields of life. Some of them are men, some women. Some will be triumphant. Some will go home wounded. But whatever happens in the battlefield, they’ll all want to do what matters most afterwards. Be they men or women, triumphant or wounded, they will all want to come home.
May all the world’s warriors go home in peace.
After 26 years of my life, I finally found out why I’ve always wanted to win my own little wars and why I waged them in the first place. All this time, I’ve been marching repeatedly to the battlefields of life because I hungered for the beautiful feeling of coming home. And I wanted someone to be there when I come home wounded. It was never my instinct, as it has never been an instinct of any man, to dream of being superior to women. But I did want to be superior to women anyway. Because there is nothing more natural than a man’s instinctive desire to take care of a woman. I wanted to be superior because I was afraid that no woman would ever let me take care of her if I were inferior to them.
Ours is an era of monumental social changes. And monumental shortcomings of a society rushing to reform itself. In this era, it is wrong to believe that men should be superior to women. Gender Equality is a virtue that must be upheld by any respectable person. Yet in this grossly romantic world, it is still perfectly okay for a woman to say, “I want to find a lover who’s much stronger and more successful than I am, someone who can be proud to say someday that he only had all those achievements because he was inspired by me.” A woman who says that is a romantic, deemed by society as wise and sophisticated. But if a man says the same thing in public, he is a shameless gold-digger, period!
When a poor boy who grows up to become a millionaire rescues his beloved woman from the abominable pit of poverty, he is called a romantic. But when a poor boy escapes poverty after marrying a wealthy, beautiful woman, no matter how sincere his intentions are, no matter how pure his love is, he will never be called a romantic. He will only earn that description when he moves heaven and earth to match her success.
Everywhere, you hear men being taught to give way to the more competent women. And in those same places, men are being taught that women will only fall for the man who can outdo them. It is right for a man to accept defeat to a woman. But it is also still right for a man to accept that defeat with a deep bitterness. The princess should be free to go as far as she wants and as far as her talents can take her. But if a man wants to be her prince, he still has to be one step ahead of her.
I understand why the early warriors had been so fearless. When your happiness as a man—your hope of being loved by a woman—rests on your capability to prove your virility through war, why should you hesitate to pick up your weapons and go to war? If you’re a man today and your happiness greatly depends on how you can turn yourself into an adorable prince—someone who has the right to rescue a princess—why would you not do anything to become a prince? And if being a prince meant that you have to be superior to the romantic princess, why would you not do anything to be superior to women? Love drives heroes to fight their noble wars. It is the one thing that drrives poor boys to become great men. And it is the hunger for that love that forces the most kind-hearted men to become chauvinist pigs.
In the offices and institutions, the battle for gender equality is being won. More and more women are gaining access to career opportunities that had long been unjustly beyond their reach. But in the homes, on the streets, in the neighborhoods, the pall of defeat looms. Marriages are in turmoil because men can’t stand the pressure of being less successful than their wives. Somehow, they think that their failure to match their wives’ success is tantamount to impotence. The women, on the other hand, feel disappointed by their husbands’ failure to become the admirable princes of their dreams. And even if both the insecure husband and the powerful wife are happy in their home, when they walk on the street, they will still be mocked. He for being a gold-digger and she for being naïve.
Gender Equality is not just about the women having the right to become warriors. It’s also about the men having the right to stay home and take care of the children when the woman goes to war. It is about the man’s embrace being as sweet as that of any woman when the fearless female warrior comes home bleeding. It is not just about the women proving that they are stronger. It is also about the men humbly accepting that they are weaker and the rest of society not ridiculing them for that. It’s not just about letting the women reach the top. It is also about the men at the bottom being free to love the women at the top. It’s not just a matter of letting the wives become superior to their husbands. It is a matter of assuring each husband that no matter how inferior he is to his wife, he could still take care of her, she could still rest her head on his shoulder, he could still caress her gently as if she was the most fragile thing in this world. Gender Equality is not just about success. It’s about acceptance. It is not just a matter of letting the men and the women compete fairly. More than anything, it is a matter of letting the men and the women love freely.
I have always been fascinated by the great men who had accomplished amazing achievements because they were inspired by the women they loved. John Keats being inspired by Fanny Brawne, Petrarch by Laura, Jose Rizal by Leonor Rivera, Percy Byshe Shelly by his wife Mary and Pierre Curie by Marie (The last two men, incidentally, were outdone by their wives.). And I wonder, how many women had been inspired by men to accomplish great things but were never able to do as they had dreamed because they lived in chauvinistic times? How much better could this world have become if only those ambitious women were free to spread their wings? How much more meaningful would the lives of those men have been if they knew they were the inspiration of those great women? Maybe someday, men, like women, will feel pride in just being the inspiration of their successful spouses. For the good of humanity, that day will have to come soon.
Today, the warriors are still marching to the battlefields of life. Some of them are men, some women. Some will be triumphant. Some will go home wounded. But whatever happens in the battlefield, they’ll all want to do what matters most afterwards. Be they men or women, triumphant or wounded, they will all want to come home.
May all the world’s warriors go home in peace.
Dreaming Between Calls
“You know, no one has really talked to me in months,” the old man said over the phone as the call was about to end, the words spoken with a hoarseness indicative of the thickness of the lump in his throat. What he really meant was, “No one has really listened to me in months.”
It was just a regular working day for a call enter agent like me. And this, a call from a fifty-something American man who begged to be allowed to skip the payment for his credit card for that month, was supposed to be just one of the 70-plus calls I would routinely handle and, owing to the fact that I didn’t have a limitless memory, would have to be casually swept out of my mind and into the realm of oblivion by the end of my shift. But the memory of that call simply refused to go away. Even until today, more than two years after I received it and nearly a year after I left the call center industry.
As in any outsourced call center that services credit card companies, the call began with routine verification. I asked for the name, credit card number and some personal info. Getting his date of birth made me aware of his age. And through the accurate personal info he gave me, I was able to access his account profile, allowing me to see his profession as well as the spending limit on his card. I could no longer remember his profession. But I do remember being impressed. It was something like a doctor or an accountant. The spending limit was high, further convincing me that the man had an enviable financial status. But when he began explaining the reason for his call, all impressions of success and stability faded.
He said he used to have a good-paying job and didn’t have to rely on anyone for his needs, much less, ask for undeserved favors. But things changed drastically a few months ago. He was crippled in a car accident that nearly had him killed. And since then, he was never able to work, thus depriving him of a source of income. Given his situation, he begged for permission to miss that month’s payment for his credit card.
He couldn’t work, I thought. That’s why he couldn’t pay. But couldn’t he have received insurance as a result of the accident? It was a question that I came up with as a result of curiosity. But sensitivity kept me from asking it aloud. What about his children? A middle-aged man at the pinnacle of success must have raised children who grew up to become well-off professionals.
“I don’t have any children,” he said even before I could ask. I didn’t bother asking about a wife, lest she turned out to have been killed in the same accident.
I did what I could do for him, something which, as a matter of professional ethics, I can’t disclose in this article. And right then and there, the call should have ended. I should have said “Thank you for calling” and “Good bye”. But the man kept talking, ranting about things that didn’t have anything to do with credit cards. He kept pointing out how pitiful his predicament was. He said he didn’t know how he could survive without a source of income. God, he didn’t even know how he could buy his medication. I wanted to say, “All right, you’ve made your point. I already did something for you. Why do you have to keep talking like that?” But I simply didn’t have the heart to say all that. It only took me 2 minutes to address the man’s concern but the actual call lasted for 40 minutes. Professionally, that was a catastrophic failure on my part. The required average handling time of each agent was only five minutes. And I was over that figure by 700 %. It was a moment that warranted a rare selfless form of unprofessionalism. And that’s exactly what I gave him. Even though I knew that would get me into trouble with my boss as soon as the agents’ performance numbers are released by the end of the day. The man didn’t just call bout his credit card. He badly needed someone who could listen.
Finally, when his emotions subsided, when the psychological volcano in him had completed its eruption, he found the courage to say “Thank you”, words that somehow frightened him because they would inevitably be followed by “Good bye”.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I wanted to say a few more soothing words that I should have said much earlier. But the man began to weep like a child. And then he hung up.
Ironically, it was at that moment, right after I heard him sob, that I had this somewhat insensitive thought. He was crippled but still had the capability to dial our number and speak over the phone. If he could do all of that, he‘d get a job sooner or later. All hope’s not yet lost for him. He would just have to rid himself of the emotional baggage that paralyzed him far more than his actual paralysis did.
Thinking of the last caller made me turn towards the agent seated to my left, a 49-year-old guy whom the young people at the office endearingly called Daddy Rolin. He was the living proof that the man who just spoke to me over the phone could still get his life back on track. Years before entering the call center industry, Daddy Rolin was a man one wouldn’t hesitate to call successful. As I recall, his academic background was in finance but he established a stable career in the construction sector in the Middle East. However, tragedy struck after he returned to work here in our country, the Philippines. A viral infection attacked the bones and muscles of his legs, practically crippling him. But he fought back. Through therapy, he was able to walk again, albeit only with the aid of a cane and at a very inconveniently slow pace. In a way, he had conquered his illness. But when you see him walking in the office, struggling to lift his leg to make each difficult step, his body trembling each time a lifted foot landed on the ground, his hand quavering as he did his best to grasp the cane’s handle and keep his balance, it is simply impossible to describe him as victorious.
A victor, he might not have been. But an inspiration, yes. Despite his handicap, he still found a job as a call center agent, answering calls of customers from the United States, a country halfway across the globe from ours. It’s no secret that each time he walked past the entrance door, all employees nearby would take notice of his arrival and watch the subsequent struggle he would courageously face as he walked from the door to his work station.
When mortals see a god walking among men, the mortals would be stunned. Who wouldn’t be mesmerized by the sheer glow of a powerful god? And as soon as that god leaves, all mortals will go on with their lives, lives that will remain unchanged despite the descent of that god from Olympus. But when a mortal seemingly cursed by the gods dares to climb Olympus, the mortals will not only watch. They will be moved, inspired to go where only the powerful gods go. That’s exactly what Daddy Rolin did to us. By merely going through each difficult morning, he drove us to climb our own Olympuses.
If someone was free, that is, if someone was nearby and didn’t have a call to attend to, that person would willingly walk slowly alongside Daddy Rolin so that the latter could have one hand on the cane and another on the kind person’s shoulder. Given his situation, riding a wheelchair would have been much more convenient for Daddy Rolin. Except that it would put to waste all the miraculous triumphs of the therapy since his legs’ muscles would inevitably deteriorate if they’re never flexed.
Had there been no call centers in this country, the man wouldn’t have a good-paying job. At his age and at his condition, it was difficult, if not impossible, to find a new financially rewarding career. In this country, in this age, the call center industry had become the new Great Equalizer.
Great Equalizer. That’s how, in an interview for the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Filipino tycoon John Gokongwei described the Second World War. After the war, both the rich and the poor had to struggle for financial survival. And in such a situation (this is my opinion and not Mr. Gokongwei’s), the usually sturdy wall that blocked the poor’s path towards wealth crumbled. The same is true of the call center boom in this country. It offered a sea of opportunities to countless Filipinos who never would have established real, respectable careers had the boom not come.
In our workplace, there were promising young men who had a lot of potential that could have just gone down the drain in the absence of the call centers, young men who studied at the University of the Philippines – Diliman, the country’s premiere university, but eventually had to drop out for financial reasons. Had they graduated, they would have become brilliant engineers. And when you come to think of it, had they decided to stay in their respective provinces (the University of the Philippines – Diliman campus was in Metro Manila) and study in smaller, less prestigious state colleges, they should have become engineers by now. But ours was a generation taught to aim only for the best and nothing less. That’s why, like the more than 60,000 senior high school students who take the entrance exam to the University of the Philippines each year, they dreamed of graduating from that estimable university and nothing less. They didn’t become engineers. But they were brilliant nonetheless. And for that reason, they deserved the success that the call center industry generously gave them.
I still clearly remember how, in college, my engineering professor mocked call center agents in front of the class. “Yes, they are well-paid,” he said. “But ask them, ‘What are you doing for your society?”. He paused to let the words’ impact be felt deeply in the silence. “If you’re happy to simply earn money, if that is the only purpose you can have in your life, then go ahead, work in a call center!” But now, I was compelled to ask. What are we supposed to do for our society? Dream?
While waiting for the next call, I looked at the other agents at the office. It wasn’t a very busy day. The volume of calls was low and as a result, many agents didn’t have calls to attend to. Some of them spent their unexpected free time gossiping with each other. The others seemed to be resting, staring at the computer, perhaps their way of keeping their eyes open (sleeping was a no-no) while their minds flew to dreamland. Yes, that must be what they were doing. Dreaming.
A call center in the Philippines is a place filled with dreams, most of them broken. Here, you would find not only the dropouts but also the engineers, the programmers, the accountants, the teachers, the nurses and even the former soldiers earning a living through a profession they never even dreamed of when they were young—when they dreamed of becoming something else, something more prestigious. In this office, there was a school teacher who had to shift to a new career because her salary as a teacher simply wasn’t enough to pay for her children’s tuition. In this call center, there were promising Computer Engineers who were stuck here because they could not find employment in the I.T. industry. This place was the refuge of engineers who could subsist on the lower salaries they could have had as entry level engineers but had to take calls for a living because they had to support the college education of their younger siblings. Finding sanctuary here are the young nursing graduates who could not find a hospital that would offer salaries high enough to cover the debts their parents had to incur for the sake of their education. Here, you would find former bank supervisors who had to leave the banking sector because they could not find a bank that could give them salaries high enough for them to afford the ever increasing apartment rates in Manila.
All these brilliant people, these underemployed professionals, they certainly must have once dreamt of doing the best for their society. Just imagine the young computer engineers when they were young and full of hope. They must have dreamed of building a billion-dollar I.T. industry for the country. But instead of manufacturing computers, they found themselves wearing headsets and pacifying irate callers. The teachers, they must have dreamed of nurturing the talents of the gifted. The accountants must have spent years imagining themselves in an accounting firm, putting into order the finances of the country’s biggest players. The programmers must have spent their youth nurturing their creativity. But now, the only time they could make use of their creativity is when they had to say a big “No” to a pleading customer’s request. These people had spent a good portion of their lives preparing to serve society in the ways they had dreamily envisioned. What were they supposed to do now that reality was bluntly telling them that their society had no room for the fulfillment of their dreams? What were they supposed to do? Dream, starve and die?
Sometimes, in between calls, they— we would still find ourselves thinking of the dreams we could no longer fulfill. But each time that phone rang, each time a call ended only to be followed by another one, we were being smacked thunderously in the face by the bitter reality. And the more calls we took—the more thunderous smacks we endured—, the more we were compelled to forget our dreams. So what if those dreams could no longer be fulfilled? The important thing was that while we were there, taking calls and earning the money we needed, the dreams of our siblings and children remained intact.
Now I know why I never forgot about that crippled American man’s call. It’s because his predicament was not too different from ours. He spent much of his life believing that life would be good if he only worked hard. That until old age, he would be a significant contributor to the society’s welfare and would never be a liability to his government. Then suddenly, something shocking happened and through some cruel twist of fate, he found himself unable to get a decent job, unable to serve society and himself in the gallant way he had always envisioned. We spent our lives preparing to be heroes for our country in our own gallant ways. We even worked hard for the fulfillment of our dreams. But when our turn to be part of the workforce came, something shocking happened: we realized that deserving the job would never be enough to get the job. And even if the job was already ours for the taking, the heavy hand of fate dragged us back to our responsibilities and away from our dreams. For some time, we inevitably wallowed in self-pity. But luckily for us, each of us swallowed his pride, rid himself of all emotional baggage early on and scrambled for the next best thing.
“But ask them, ‘What are you doing for your society?” the words of my professor echoed in my head.
And my caller said, “You know, no one has really talked to me in months.” Although what he really meant was, “No one has really listened to me in months.”
Listen to us.
It was just a regular working day for a call enter agent like me. And this, a call from a fifty-something American man who begged to be allowed to skip the payment for his credit card for that month, was supposed to be just one of the 70-plus calls I would routinely handle and, owing to the fact that I didn’t have a limitless memory, would have to be casually swept out of my mind and into the realm of oblivion by the end of my shift. But the memory of that call simply refused to go away. Even until today, more than two years after I received it and nearly a year after I left the call center industry.
As in any outsourced call center that services credit card companies, the call began with routine verification. I asked for the name, credit card number and some personal info. Getting his date of birth made me aware of his age. And through the accurate personal info he gave me, I was able to access his account profile, allowing me to see his profession as well as the spending limit on his card. I could no longer remember his profession. But I do remember being impressed. It was something like a doctor or an accountant. The spending limit was high, further convincing me that the man had an enviable financial status. But when he began explaining the reason for his call, all impressions of success and stability faded.
He said he used to have a good-paying job and didn’t have to rely on anyone for his needs, much less, ask for undeserved favors. But things changed drastically a few months ago. He was crippled in a car accident that nearly had him killed. And since then, he was never able to work, thus depriving him of a source of income. Given his situation, he begged for permission to miss that month’s payment for his credit card.
He couldn’t work, I thought. That’s why he couldn’t pay. But couldn’t he have received insurance as a result of the accident? It was a question that I came up with as a result of curiosity. But sensitivity kept me from asking it aloud. What about his children? A middle-aged man at the pinnacle of success must have raised children who grew up to become well-off professionals.
“I don’t have any children,” he said even before I could ask. I didn’t bother asking about a wife, lest she turned out to have been killed in the same accident.
I did what I could do for him, something which, as a matter of professional ethics, I can’t disclose in this article. And right then and there, the call should have ended. I should have said “Thank you for calling” and “Good bye”. But the man kept talking, ranting about things that didn’t have anything to do with credit cards. He kept pointing out how pitiful his predicament was. He said he didn’t know how he could survive without a source of income. God, he didn’t even know how he could buy his medication. I wanted to say, “All right, you’ve made your point. I already did something for you. Why do you have to keep talking like that?” But I simply didn’t have the heart to say all that. It only took me 2 minutes to address the man’s concern but the actual call lasted for 40 minutes. Professionally, that was a catastrophic failure on my part. The required average handling time of each agent was only five minutes. And I was over that figure by 700 %. It was a moment that warranted a rare selfless form of unprofessionalism. And that’s exactly what I gave him. Even though I knew that would get me into trouble with my boss as soon as the agents’ performance numbers are released by the end of the day. The man didn’t just call bout his credit card. He badly needed someone who could listen.
Finally, when his emotions subsided, when the psychological volcano in him had completed its eruption, he found the courage to say “Thank you”, words that somehow frightened him because they would inevitably be followed by “Good bye”.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I wanted to say a few more soothing words that I should have said much earlier. But the man began to weep like a child. And then he hung up.
Ironically, it was at that moment, right after I heard him sob, that I had this somewhat insensitive thought. He was crippled but still had the capability to dial our number and speak over the phone. If he could do all of that, he‘d get a job sooner or later. All hope’s not yet lost for him. He would just have to rid himself of the emotional baggage that paralyzed him far more than his actual paralysis did.
Thinking of the last caller made me turn towards the agent seated to my left, a 49-year-old guy whom the young people at the office endearingly called Daddy Rolin. He was the living proof that the man who just spoke to me over the phone could still get his life back on track. Years before entering the call center industry, Daddy Rolin was a man one wouldn’t hesitate to call successful. As I recall, his academic background was in finance but he established a stable career in the construction sector in the Middle East. However, tragedy struck after he returned to work here in our country, the Philippines. A viral infection attacked the bones and muscles of his legs, practically crippling him. But he fought back. Through therapy, he was able to walk again, albeit only with the aid of a cane and at a very inconveniently slow pace. In a way, he had conquered his illness. But when you see him walking in the office, struggling to lift his leg to make each difficult step, his body trembling each time a lifted foot landed on the ground, his hand quavering as he did his best to grasp the cane’s handle and keep his balance, it is simply impossible to describe him as victorious.
A victor, he might not have been. But an inspiration, yes. Despite his handicap, he still found a job as a call center agent, answering calls of customers from the United States, a country halfway across the globe from ours. It’s no secret that each time he walked past the entrance door, all employees nearby would take notice of his arrival and watch the subsequent struggle he would courageously face as he walked from the door to his work station.
When mortals see a god walking among men, the mortals would be stunned. Who wouldn’t be mesmerized by the sheer glow of a powerful god? And as soon as that god leaves, all mortals will go on with their lives, lives that will remain unchanged despite the descent of that god from Olympus. But when a mortal seemingly cursed by the gods dares to climb Olympus, the mortals will not only watch. They will be moved, inspired to go where only the powerful gods go. That’s exactly what Daddy Rolin did to us. By merely going through each difficult morning, he drove us to climb our own Olympuses.
If someone was free, that is, if someone was nearby and didn’t have a call to attend to, that person would willingly walk slowly alongside Daddy Rolin so that the latter could have one hand on the cane and another on the kind person’s shoulder. Given his situation, riding a wheelchair would have been much more convenient for Daddy Rolin. Except that it would put to waste all the miraculous triumphs of the therapy since his legs’ muscles would inevitably deteriorate if they’re never flexed.
Had there been no call centers in this country, the man wouldn’t have a good-paying job. At his age and at his condition, it was difficult, if not impossible, to find a new financially rewarding career. In this country, in this age, the call center industry had become the new Great Equalizer.
Great Equalizer. That’s how, in an interview for the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Filipino tycoon John Gokongwei described the Second World War. After the war, both the rich and the poor had to struggle for financial survival. And in such a situation (this is my opinion and not Mr. Gokongwei’s), the usually sturdy wall that blocked the poor’s path towards wealth crumbled. The same is true of the call center boom in this country. It offered a sea of opportunities to countless Filipinos who never would have established real, respectable careers had the boom not come.
In our workplace, there were promising young men who had a lot of potential that could have just gone down the drain in the absence of the call centers, young men who studied at the University of the Philippines – Diliman, the country’s premiere university, but eventually had to drop out for financial reasons. Had they graduated, they would have become brilliant engineers. And when you come to think of it, had they decided to stay in their respective provinces (the University of the Philippines – Diliman campus was in Metro Manila) and study in smaller, less prestigious state colleges, they should have become engineers by now. But ours was a generation taught to aim only for the best and nothing less. That’s why, like the more than 60,000 senior high school students who take the entrance exam to the University of the Philippines each year, they dreamed of graduating from that estimable university and nothing less. They didn’t become engineers. But they were brilliant nonetheless. And for that reason, they deserved the success that the call center industry generously gave them.
I still clearly remember how, in college, my engineering professor mocked call center agents in front of the class. “Yes, they are well-paid,” he said. “But ask them, ‘What are you doing for your society?”. He paused to let the words’ impact be felt deeply in the silence. “If you’re happy to simply earn money, if that is the only purpose you can have in your life, then go ahead, work in a call center!” But now, I was compelled to ask. What are we supposed to do for our society? Dream?
While waiting for the next call, I looked at the other agents at the office. It wasn’t a very busy day. The volume of calls was low and as a result, many agents didn’t have calls to attend to. Some of them spent their unexpected free time gossiping with each other. The others seemed to be resting, staring at the computer, perhaps their way of keeping their eyes open (sleeping was a no-no) while their minds flew to dreamland. Yes, that must be what they were doing. Dreaming.
A call center in the Philippines is a place filled with dreams, most of them broken. Here, you would find not only the dropouts but also the engineers, the programmers, the accountants, the teachers, the nurses and even the former soldiers earning a living through a profession they never even dreamed of when they were young—when they dreamed of becoming something else, something more prestigious. In this office, there was a school teacher who had to shift to a new career because her salary as a teacher simply wasn’t enough to pay for her children’s tuition. In this call center, there were promising Computer Engineers who were stuck here because they could not find employment in the I.T. industry. This place was the refuge of engineers who could subsist on the lower salaries they could have had as entry level engineers but had to take calls for a living because they had to support the college education of their younger siblings. Finding sanctuary here are the young nursing graduates who could not find a hospital that would offer salaries high enough to cover the debts their parents had to incur for the sake of their education. Here, you would find former bank supervisors who had to leave the banking sector because they could not find a bank that could give them salaries high enough for them to afford the ever increasing apartment rates in Manila.
All these brilliant people, these underemployed professionals, they certainly must have once dreamt of doing the best for their society. Just imagine the young computer engineers when they were young and full of hope. They must have dreamed of building a billion-dollar I.T. industry for the country. But instead of manufacturing computers, they found themselves wearing headsets and pacifying irate callers. The teachers, they must have dreamed of nurturing the talents of the gifted. The accountants must have spent years imagining themselves in an accounting firm, putting into order the finances of the country’s biggest players. The programmers must have spent their youth nurturing their creativity. But now, the only time they could make use of their creativity is when they had to say a big “No” to a pleading customer’s request. These people had spent a good portion of their lives preparing to serve society in the ways they had dreamily envisioned. What were they supposed to do now that reality was bluntly telling them that their society had no room for the fulfillment of their dreams? What were they supposed to do? Dream, starve and die?
Sometimes, in between calls, they— we would still find ourselves thinking of the dreams we could no longer fulfill. But each time that phone rang, each time a call ended only to be followed by another one, we were being smacked thunderously in the face by the bitter reality. And the more calls we took—the more thunderous smacks we endured—, the more we were compelled to forget our dreams. So what if those dreams could no longer be fulfilled? The important thing was that while we were there, taking calls and earning the money we needed, the dreams of our siblings and children remained intact.
Now I know why I never forgot about that crippled American man’s call. It’s because his predicament was not too different from ours. He spent much of his life believing that life would be good if he only worked hard. That until old age, he would be a significant contributor to the society’s welfare and would never be a liability to his government. Then suddenly, something shocking happened and through some cruel twist of fate, he found himself unable to get a decent job, unable to serve society and himself in the gallant way he had always envisioned. We spent our lives preparing to be heroes for our country in our own gallant ways. We even worked hard for the fulfillment of our dreams. But when our turn to be part of the workforce came, something shocking happened: we realized that deserving the job would never be enough to get the job. And even if the job was already ours for the taking, the heavy hand of fate dragged us back to our responsibilities and away from our dreams. For some time, we inevitably wallowed in self-pity. But luckily for us, each of us swallowed his pride, rid himself of all emotional baggage early on and scrambled for the next best thing.
“But ask them, ‘What are you doing for your society?” the words of my professor echoed in my head.
And my caller said, “You know, no one has really talked to me in months.” Although what he really meant was, “No one has really listened to me in months.”
Listen to us.
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